


Dreams of Hatred and Dragon's Fire

by Krasimer



Series: Dreams of You 'Verse [10]
Category: The Hobbit - All Media Types, The Hobbit - J. R. R. Tolkien
Genre: AU, Alternate Timelines, Alternate Universe - Canon Divergence, Alternate Universe - Reincarnation, Alternate Universe - Time Travel, And they are the only ones who understand, Characters wanted to have sex with feelings, Living Arkenstone, M/M, Please read the rest of the series to understand this, Plot related porn, Porn with Feelings, Rating has changed, Time Travel
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2015-04-03
Updated: 2018-01-07
Packaged: 2018-03-21 03:24:30
Rating: Explicit
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings, No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 10
Words: 31,582
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/3675600
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/Krasimer/pseuds/Krasimer
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>The Arkenstone, the prized above all else jewel of the King's hoard.</p><p>Smaug, a dragon drawn by the treasure a foolish king collected.</p><p>The Heart of a mountain, alive and angry and injured by years of being out of it's home.</p><p>There is no world in which this ends well.</p>
            </blockquote>





	1. Do Not Go Into The Darkness Alone

George growled as he wiped away a little bit of sweat from his forehead. The shadows flickered as he walked through them, pushing aside tendrils of sharp thorned plants that tried to drag at his face. 

Behind him, Will was holding up both of their flashlights, leaving George to push the dangers on the path out of the way. "How much further?" he asked quietly, aiming one of the beams of light down so that George could see where he was putting his foot. "And how did Gollum make it down here all the time without coming out scratched and bloody?"

"He's considerably smaller than us," George grunted, a thickly covered arm raised and his body held to the side so that Will could duck down and through. It took a moment of maneuvering, but they managed to get back into formation. "And also has thicker skin, the bastard. I think that might be the only thing that I miss about being a dragon. Didn't help me much in the end," he shrugged, smiling at Will. "But I'm glad it didn't."

Will smiled back, cheeks slightly flushed. 

Eventually, they made it into the hollow of cement and blackberry bushes that George had rescued Bilbo from, what seemed like centuries ago now. All in all, the space was smaller than a half bathroom in a crappy apartment, but it was also stuffed full of things that seemed to have caught the creature's eye.

Gagging, Will put a hand over his mouth, the second flashlight tucked under his arm. "Oh, that's-" he started coughing, a retching noise coming from the back of his throat. "What did he do, murder small animals in here?"

"Frodo said that that was how he ate fish. Fresh from the water and still wiggling until he bashed their heads in." George had one gloved hand over his nose. "Bilbo added in goblins to that pleasant description." Off to one side was a pile of cloth, carefully edged away from the dripping water pipes that were open above their heads, and it was this that George reached out a toe and prodded. 

When it didn't move, he took the second flashlight from Will and leaned down to examine it, brushing careful fingers through the pile until he felt something smooth and hard. 

"Could you shine your light on this as well?" George motioned at the area, having reached back to tap Will's leg. "I am not so foolish that I would trust the animals of this area not to bite me the moment I let my light trail away."

Will did, bracing one hand on George's shoulder. "Did you find it?"

"Yes." George swallowed, frowning. He pulled it from the pile, the shimmering stone taking his breath away for all the wrong reasons. "It should not be here, not in the middle of civilization. It should be buried, possibly back in it's own mountain, where no one will ever find it again." he stood, letting Will help him up. "I-"

He shuddered as the world seemed to fall apart around them, rearranging itself and knocking them to the ground. 

When he opened his eyes again, they were in an alleyway, the end of it leading into a brightly lit market that was jam packed full of people. As George watched, he spotted a couple of short women, hand in hand and discussing something in a heated tone, pass by the entrance to their hiding spot. Instead of any language that he associated with the modern era, however, it sounded like they were speaking-

"Oh." George's eyes went almost as big as the gem he still held. With a wary glance around, he prodded Will's shoulder until the other man woke up. 

Grunting in pain and rubbing at his shoulder, Will frowned. "George?"

Looking a bit like a fish gasping for air, George pointed out the end of the alleyway. "Khuzdal." he fumbled for more words than that, an air of surprise clouding his mind. "Dwarven market."

"...What." Will struggled upright, already looking around. 

George's attention was caught then, looking at the clothes his boyfriend wore. Instead of the thick jacket and denim jeans he had set out in, he now wore something that looked like a low-ranked noble's clothes from back when Thorin had been king. If he looked carefully, he could see glimmers, evidence of a glamour, arcing around Will's ears. It didn't take a genius to figure out what they were hiding, what with the disappearance of Will's hearing aids.

His train of thought crashed and burned when a hand was thrust in front of his face. "George!" Will hissed, gesturing for him to take his hand. When George finally did, he helped the man stand, brushing off his shoulders and pressing a quick kiss to his forehead. "I know where we are."

"How can you know that?" George looked out to see if there was some clue he had missed.

Will swallowed nervously. "I just saw a banner carrier. The symbol they bore was for Thrain the second, King of Erebor."

George laughed, a high pitched and panicked sound. "This is beyond bad, this is going to be intensely horrible. We appear to have gone back in time?" he edged towards the market, then nodded at his own question. "We have. We've gone back in time."

"To a time we both lived through." Will pulled something off of George's shoulder. "And you have the Arkenstone in a bag." he held the purse out for George to inspect, licking his lips. The fabric was a deep brown, and soft to the touch. "...Didn't you mention that this thing had a living will of it's own?" he flipped the flap back for George to look inside of it. "What do we know about it's other powers?"

"I know that it causes reincarnation." George blinked, then covered his face with his hands. "Alright...So it brings people back and keeps bringing them back, it causes hobbits and dwarves alike to go insane, and it seems like it has time travel properties." he took the bag back, slinging it over his shoulder again. 

Sliding his hand into his boyfriend's, Will started walking slowly. "My thought is that we need to see exactly when we are. It might be the best way to get out of here and get back home."

"...We only traveled when I mentioned putting the Arkenstone back in it's mountain." George whispered, a hand clutching the bag protectively. "I think it wants to go back home as well, so it grabbed both of us and put us in a time period where that could occur."

"Fuck." Will hissed, his hand dragging upwards to George's shoulder. "I know when we are."

"What?" George looked around the market, frowning. "How can you know that, we've only gone twelve feet." he turned to the side, looking for whatever it was that he had missed. "Will, how do you know?"

Will tilted his chin up, towards the sky. "That's how."

Up in the sky, a dark shadow that was occasionally slipping behind the clouds, was a dragon.


	2. Far Over The Misty Mountains

"Oh." George said stupidly, gaping at the shape in the sky. 

And then the screams started. 

The rest of the dwarven market had noticed it, and all of the merchants had started packing up their stalls as fast as they could. Some of them, when the dragon fell from the sky and blasted flames towards the ground, simply abandoned their wares. Most of those wandering around grabbed hands with one or two others and ran, screaming out a warning for those ahead as they went. 

Within seconds, there was chaos surrounding them, the entire market clearing out.

Doubling back into the alley, George threw Will ahead of him, narrowly getting him out of the way of one of the streams of flame. "This is not a safe place to be to try and return you to your mountain!" he snarled at the stone, shaking the bag it was in. "If you get us killed here, you never go back!"

"Worse yet, we never go home either." Will pressed his back against the wall, breathing heavily. 

George growled, teeth bared and hands clenched tightly. "I don't think it cares about that." he explained, pressing his forehead to the other man's. "And," he added, directing the comment at the stone. "If he dies because of this, I am dropping you in the ocean after burying you in clay. Good luck finding your way back when no one knows where you are and doesn't care to find you."

He felt the shift this time, the pull at the bottom of his stomach that meant they were being yanked through time again. 

This time, when he opened his eyes, he was standing in a small village of neat little hills and gardens. He stepped back from Will, frowning at the surrounding area, then turned around when he heard someone clear their throat. "Hello." he spoke quietly, eyes wide as he recognized the man in front of him. 

"Greetings." the man raised an eyebrow at him, leaning on his staff and crossing his wrists. The grey robes and hat would have given him away, even if George hadn't known who it was. "You are going to explain to me, however long it takes, how it is you came to be in Hobbiton, appearing on the hill in front of a friend's home out of nothingness." his thin lips quirked up into a smile as his other eyebrow rose to meet it's match. "And you are going to do so now."

Feeling very much like a child with his hand in the cookie jar, in the moment they were caught by the already suspicious parent, George swallowed nervously. "What friend is it?"

"I cannot tell you." Gandalf answered.

With a muttered curse, George pressed a hand to his chest. "It's Bilbo, isn't it?"

The air around them seemed to still and Gandalf himself seemed to grow, his stature almost frightening. "And how," he rumbled, voice like thunder, "Do you know of Bilbo?"

"He hasn't gone on his adventure yet, you've just carved the sign into his door that will lead a group of dwarves to him and his home." George guessed, eyes flickering towards the round green door off to his left. "Well, this thing certainly knows how to pick a time period." he bit the tip of his tongue between his front teeth. 

Will raised a hand partially into the air. "I think we are willing to tell you everything, Gandalf, but we should do so in a different locale. I fear we might very well frighten the folk of Hobbiton as it is."

The air settled and Gandalf smiled at them. "Wise words from menfolk." he gestured for them to follow him down the path that led away from Bilbo's door.

They followed him, George's hand slipping back into Will's as he sighed and shook his head. With a glare down at the bag, he patted it carefully, letting his shoulder bump against his boyfriend's. Gandalf glanced back at the two of them, an odd gleam in his eyes, then turned away again, his staff thumping rhythmically with every step.

 

Eventually, they reached the small inn outside of Hobbiton, a decent amount of a walk from where they had been.

Gandalf led them up the stairs to a room, leaning his staff against the wall and placing his hat on top of it. "Now your tale, if it could be told, shall be held between the three of us." he sat at the table in the corner, gesturing at the two other chairs. "But I would ask that you begin quickly, for I feel it might be a long one."

With a nod, George pulled a chair out for Will, then sat himself down as well. "We are not from here." he began, slipping back into his habit of avoiding contractions. He gripped the strap of the bag tightly, his knuckles going white for a moment. "We were, unfortunately for our lives, brought here by a force beyond our control." he lifted the bag into sight, setting it on the tabletop and letting the flap fall open. Meeting Gandalf's eyes, he slid a hand inside and pulled out the Arkenstone. "We must return this to the mountain from which it was taken."

With a deep breath, Gandalf's eyes went almost imperceptibly wider. "That would be the King's jewel."

"It is, yes." Will added in, brushing his hair out of his face. "We retrieved it from the...Dwelling of a creature that had survived from this age to ours." he shrugged when the wizard's eyes landed on him. Hurrying to explain, he added, "We're from the future." and then winced at how clumsily the words fell from his mouth. "That thing is alive, and it wants to be put back."

Ghosting his fingers over the surface of it, Gandalf nodded. "As strange as it may be, I believe I would be a fool to disregard your words." he drew his hand back from the stone slowly, like he was feeling the edges of it's self. "I can tell that it lives, and that there is indeed a will driving it." he pulled his pipe from within his robes, lighting it with the tip of his finger. It took a second, his hand shaking as he kept his eyes on the Arkenstone. "It is angry, far angrier than any other force I have had the misfortune to come across."

He blew out a couple of rings of smoke, then closed his eyes. "I fear that you are stranded here until it has achieved it's intent."

George shuddered, sliding the stone back into the bag. "We must find a way to journey to the mountains then, without arousing suspicion." the moment he said it, he frowned, eyeing Gandalf. The wizard had chuckled around the end of his pipe, a couple of streams of smoke coming from his mouth. "What? Why are you lau-" he choked on his words, eyes going wide. "No. No. Hell No. Gandalf, do not dare send us on that journey with them."

"You need some way of getting to the Kingdom of Erebor, correct?" Gandalf pulled his pipe from his mouth completely, lips curling up in a worrying smile. "Dwarves do not trust small groups, they would prefer to travel in larger numbers whenever possible."

Will looked between the two of them. "Is he-" he focused on Gandalf. "Are you really going to-" On George again. "It might be the best way?"

"I refuse to go on the journey to Erebor with the bitchiest possible version of Thorin and a lovesick hobbit version of Bilbo!" George hissed, gold eyes narrowed at the smug wizard. "I refuse! It invades their privacy and it will alter the timeline!"

"From what I have seen of it, based on what the stone showed me," Gandalf leaned forward across the table. "Perhaps the timeline could do with some altering."

Both George and Will leaned back in their seats, George's arms crossed over his chest and the bag in his lap. For the most part, he still looked human, but if he started breathing out fire, Will would not have been surprised. "Fine." he hissed venomously, nostrils flaring angrily. "If it is the only way, then so be it."

 

XxXxX

 

Which was how, Will mused quietly as they knocked on the door, they had ended up in the seemingly endless parade of dwarves that were barging their way into a hobbit's smial.

Bilbo answered the door, looking so much like his future self that Will nearly addressed him as such. The poor hobbit's eyebrows were drawn down against his eyes, and if he looked into the room beyond, he could see Balin and Dwalin's cloaks hanging on the coat-rack. George greeted the hobbit, introducing them with their full names and pulling him into a bow. 

"At your service." he finished, letting Will stand upright again. 

There was a twitch of annoyance at the edge of his smile, something razor sharp that Will hadn't seen since he'd first met the man. At the time, not knowing of their pasts and who they had been, Will had compared George to a dragon, or perhaps a snake, in his mind. Something that seemed harmless enough until pushed too far, and then it was deadly beyond reason. 

Wordlessly, as if stunned into confusion by those who had already arrived, Bilbo held the door open and stood back. As they passed him, he blinked and let the door swing shut.

The cloaks that Gandalf had given them, along with the travelling bags, were pulled off and hung on the pegs that stuck out from the wall. Their bags tucked neatly under the bench, George still clinging tightly to the bag that held the Arkenstone.  
Bilbo, making a few faces like he was trying to think of what to say, directed them wordlessly to the table that Dwalin and Balin were seated at.

Pausing at the doorway of the dining area, Bilbo frowned. "This is all very unprecedented." he muttered, waving a hand towards them and gesturing at something he couldn't say. He waited until George and Will had settled down with something to eat, then looked over his shoulder as the door was knocked on again.

Slowly, the room filled with faces that they knew, the people that owned them unaware of their previous knowledge. 

Dori, Nori, and Ori had commandeered one of the corners of the table, the youngest of the Ri brothers listening quietly to the older two as he scribbled something down on a piece of parchment, his hands permanently ink-stained. The finger-less gloves he wore matched the ones that Dori wore, and Will was willing to bet that Nori had a pair in his bag as well.

It was strange. He knew these people, he knew what they were like and who they were and how they reacted to the world around them. 

But he had never quite seen them like this.

This was the group of them without interference between two lives in their heads. This was Ori, staring at Dwalin and only looking away, cheeks flushed, when Dori turned to check on him. For how close they were in the future, he had never seen them this protective of one another, Ori barely old enough to be called a teenage dwarf. 

Fili and Kili were older than him.

George nudged his shoulder with his chin, a small smile on his lips as he saw where Will was looking. "It is fairly odd," he muttered under his breath, a spoon tapping gently against the edge of his clay bowl. "To see them so different and yet the same."

Will nodded, then winced as the singing started. His hearing aids, still hidden under the glimmer of the glamour, were squealing slightly.

"Oh, yes." he muttered back when they settled. "Very much the same."

 

XxXxX

 

It was an accident that George was so close to the front when Thorin walked in. 

Fili and Kili had latched onto his arms, curious as they ever were, and had dragged him with them when they went to the front room, probably aiming to inspect the woodwork around the front room again. Bilbo had yelled at them for putting their feet on it and all that had accomplished was getting them worked up about it.

"Well, you see-" Fili began, ducking around Bofur. 

"-We haven't been in a hobbit hole before-" Kili continued for him.

Fili rolled his eyes, then gestured at the door, the singing continuing around them. Will was back in the dining area, abandoned by him being pulled unwillingly away. The bag with the Arkenstone was still hooked around his shoulder and chest. "-And we were only curious, you see." 

"And hobbits are such odd creatures!" Kili finished, stopping in his tracks when a knock sounded, a heavy hand on the other side of the door. 

Bilbo came hurrying out of the kitchen, a couple of plates in hand as he wrenched the door open. The flustered look on his face in combination with the ruffled collar of his shirt and the pink of his cheeks drew the gaze of the King on the other side.

Thorin looked at him, pupils dilating as he took in the sight of the smaller being. 

For a moment, George looked between the two of them, tuning them out when the bag on his shoulders began burning into his hip. It was a flame-less heat, thankfully, but it made his leg ache in a way that he hadn't known since an arrow had pierced his hide. Faintly, he heard Bilbo arguing about a mark on the door, but he ignored the rest of the exchange as Fili and Kili finally let go of him.

With a glance at the rest of the room, he turned on his heel and fled to the bathroom, closing the door behind him and leaning against it. Taking a deep breath, he pulled the bag up and opened it, looking into the depths. "You are going to have to calm down," he hissed at the stone. "He is not the one who dug you up, and he is in fact the best way for you to return to your mountain." he sighed, digging it out of the fabric and baring his teeth at it in a snarl. "Or else I am still going to toss you into a deep pit elsewhere, and you'll never return to your home. Your very existence caused a King to fall deeper into his gold sickness. If he had lived long enough, he would have become like I am."

A knock on the door, followed by his name, made him sit up and let Will in. 

In the room together, the deep yawning feeling in his chest that he hadn't noticed dissipated. Will smiled at him, pressing him against the door and burying his face in George's shoulder. "I forgot how overwhelming all of them can get." he whispered.

George nodded, nuzzling his nose into the side of Will's face. "Just a little too much?"

"Just a bit." 

They stood there for a minute before Will pulled back, kissing George gently. It devolved quickly, hands pressing against each other's bodies and soft sounds echoing in the small space. With a sort of sobbing sound, Will pressed closer again, shoulders shaking as he lay his body along George's. "What if we never make it home again?" he whispered, still kissing the bits of exposed skin he could reach. 

"My mother will be so angry with us." George whispered back, trying to make the other man laugh.

It worked, Will pulling back to blink slowly, his entire face turning red as he laughed silently. His shoulders were shaking, but this time it was from barely contained mirth. "We do have that lunch planned, and I think she wants us to be there for that." he shrugged. "Just a guess."

George giggled, an embarrassingly high pitched noise. "She might, yes. Just- Just maybe." he cupped Will's face in his hands, a thumb brushing over his bottom lip. "Are you alright now, or should we choose the bathroom of this lovely smial as our camp for the night?" he gestured at the frankly enormous washtub, his eyebrows jumping up and down for a moment. "There's plenty of room in there for the both of us, I think."

Will let out one more snort of laughter, then nodded. "I think I'm alright now." 

Checking once more to make sure that he had the bag with the Arkenstone in it, George held the door for his boyfriend, allowing the younger man to leave the room first. The hallway they were in was empty, but the moment they turned a corner, Dori was standing in front of them.

There was a teapot in his right hand and a mug in his left, and a very determined look on his face. 

"I have noticed," he began, his head tilted and his eyebrows raised. "That the two of you are the only ones without tea." he offered the mug forward, eyes fixed on Will. When Will took it, he reached into his pocket and retrieved the one that he had apparently stuck in there. He poured tea into it, then offered it to George.

When George took it, he moved aside to allow them to walk ahead of him. 

Of course it was a ploy.

"I have also happened to notice that you, Wilhelm, seem to be struck with the same plight that affects Oin." he held the teapot in both hands now, and when Will turned back to look at him, he smiled. "Might I trouble you for the story of yours?"

"I was born with it." Will looked into his mug, swirling the tea gently. "It is better than it used to be."

Which, actually, was not a lie.

"Oh, that is most unfortunate." Dori patted his shoulder, as far up as he could reach. "Now, if it's not too much prying, might I know of your relationship?"

George, in midstep, froze and almost fell over, a bit of hot tea sloshing over the edge of the mug. Without even thinking about it, Will reached out and caught him, steadying him until he could get his feet back underneath him. Taking a deep breath again, George turned to Dori. "We-" he frowned, trying to think of something. Any sort of lie he might have told to the dwarrow slipped away as Will took his hand, kissing the knuckles reassuringly. 

"I thought so." Dori nodded once, then smiled approvingly. "I wanted to ask about the wisdom of coming on this quest for a couple such as yourselves."

"We have no other choice, there is some business that we must attend to." George bowed his head, his free hand against his chest in a salute to the shorter male. "I thank you for your concern, however. It is much appreciated, and it gives me hope that we will not be considered outsiders for this journey."

Dori snorted, then nudged them along. "I would be more concerned about the hobbit, lad. Thorin does not seem too pleased with him, and as our future burglar, I must say that at first sight he falls short of expectations."

"You never know," Will spoke up this time, a small smile tugging at the edge of his mouth. "Bilbo might surprise you."

 

XxXxX

 

The first night, the first full day having been spent in the past, was ended with a song that could have torn the still beating heart from George's chest.

It was hopeful and mournful at the same time, a song that told of their home and their reason for needing it back. As it was, he could feel tears coming to the corners of his eyes, and he let them fall and he pressed a kiss to the top of Will's head. Across the room, hidden in one of the little alcoves, was Bilbo. 

His hands were pressed to his heart, his lips clenched together so tightly that they were white. With his eyes closed, George couldn't see what they were doing, but he was fairly certain that the song had roused the same emotions in the hobbit that had awoken in him. The sorrow and joy and anger and worry that the song had sent to anyone who heard it...  
It was a wonder that more dwarves were not known for their singing prowess.

In his lap, Will was crying as well, but his breathing was on the edge of asleep, his arms wrapped around George's waist. Hidden from view of anyone else was the bag that held the Arkenstone, carefully kept away from Thorin when he had been introduced as extra protection for the King and his nephews. It was still warm against his thigh, but the heat had calmed somewhat, less of a pain and more of a reminder.

It felt like a threat.

With the song finished, the dwarves dispersed, finding places to bed down for the night. Bilbo, being the host that he was, offered his bed to the King, choosing instead to sleep on the cushion in the window. His arms were curled up under his head, and the moon caught on his curls in a way that made them look like spun gold.

For the first time, George found himself curious as to how the entire story had begun. 

The love story between a king without his kingdom and a hobbit who had valued friends and family and a good meal over any mountain of gold. There were other aspects of it that were curious as well, like how each and every one of them had managed to come to ruin in one way or another. The group, back in his own time, had never actually divulged all of the details, preferring to keep themselves grounded in the present instead of crying over the past.

"George?" Gandalf spoke quietly, his staff leaning against the entrance hall wall with his hat and everyone elses cloaks. "Are you alright?"

"They never told me the entire story." he whispered back, playing with Will's hair. Belatedly, he noticed Dori at the wizard's side, the older dwarf's hands clasped together in front of him. "Ah, I should have-"

"I asked Gandalf what it was that your history included." Dori spoke softly, a mothering sort of tone to his voice. "And he told me that I had to ask you meself. I am guessing, by your statement, that you are not from our part of things." he gestured at the dwarves, some of them curled together and others sprawled out across the floor. "Might I know?"

Shrugging, George sighed. "We are not from this part of the world, no. We are not even from this point in the timeline." he quirked his lips into a smile when Will turned in his sleep, mumbling about something. "I do not believe that- Well..." he made a face. "It depends on what you would tell your king of this conversation." he looked towards the room that Thorin slept in, a fond smile on his face.

"Very little, if anything." Dori assured him.

George nodded. "Then I can tell you. I know you to be a dwarf of your word, so I thank you for it now." he adjusted slightly, trying to stop his back from hurting. "I am pulled back in time by the force of the heart of the mountain. It insists on myself and Wilhelm being the ones to take it back to it's home, and we first woke up in the past on the day the dragon took Erebor."

"How is it that you came to be here and now?" Dori questioned him after a few minutes of thinking that over. 

"I ducked into an alley at the market, dragging Will with me, and yelled at the stone until we opened our eyes again and were in front of Bilbo's front door." George rolled his eyes. "The damn thing seems to have decided to hold us captive until we return it to it's home."

"Well." Dori nodded, a hand on his chin as he thought about that as well. "What happens to you when you return it to it's resting place?"

"My hope," he swallowed down the wave of fear that came with that. "Is that we'll go back to when we should be."

"And what if you don't?" 

George turned to look out the window, eyes drifting to focus on the small lake that could be seen from his vantage point. "I fear for what happens if we do not return." he whispered, hands tangled fully in Will's hair now. "For the sake of our families and for the sake of him."

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> ...I actually really adore mother-hen Dori, but I don't think that he would be so overprotective as to keep his brothers from doing what made them happy. I just think that he would follow along to make sure that he was within reach if it went completely wrong.
> 
> What did you think?


	3. If I Knew How To Tell You

Will sighed, leaning forward to pat at the neck of the horse that had been procured for him. 

The mare whinnied softly, her tail swishing as she plodded along. George was an almost literal cloud of doom next to him, lips twisted in a scowl. It was hard to say what the exact cause of Bilbo not leaving with them was, but it seemed that George was afraid it was their fault. 

Apparently, the timeline might have been so altered as to keep the hobbit from coming on the journey in the first place.

With a quiet sigh, Will leaned over and put a hand on the other man's shoulder. The back of his horse was weighed down with his pack, the Arkenstone's bag still crossed over his chest, and his arms were crossed over that in such a way that he could still hold onto it. The overall effect was of a stubborn child refusing to listen to reason. "George." Will whispered, tugging on his sleeve and smiling at him. "George, don't make me use the embarrassing pet names."

"You will not." George finally looked up at him, eyes slightly wider. 

"I will." Will felt a wicked smile growing, a hand sliding up to cup George's cheek. "Sweetie-Bear."

"Stop it."

"Honey-Butt."

"No."

"Lovey dove."

"I beg of you, please stop."

Will sighed again. "I love you. I love you very much and there's things happening that I don't fully understand and I want you to know something, because it's very important." he leaned further towards the other man. "I know something that might make this better."

"What is that?" George looked worried for a second, mouth drawn small and anxious. 

"If Bilbo never goes on the journey, then he and Thorin don't have a falling out and they don't end up hating each other only for the dwarf to die." Will gathered the reins of his horse in one hand, steering carefully. "And if that never happens, then Thorin can come back and pursue said hobbit, settling down in the Shire with him."

"...I did see the looks between the two of them." George muttered, unfolding and sitting up a little more. "The entirety of history might be better off if Bilbo stays home."

"WAIT!"

"Of course," Will looked behind, halting his horse so that it wouldn't run any of the ponies down. "I forget sometimes that the world wants to prove me wrong." he breathed through his nose as Bilbo came dashing up the path, the contract waving like a banner in his hands as he exerted himself.

"Does that mean we altered the past," George bit his lip. "Or did this happen anyways? I do not recall the exact line of events."

They both went quiet as Bilbo walked past them, his chest heaving and his face flushed as he walked up to the dwarves. With a bit of a flourish, he handed over the contract, his eyes bright with something as he stared up at Thorin. The contract was passed to one of the other's, but George focused solely on Bilbo; The Hobbit was curling his toes into the soft moss under his feet as he waited.

He looked less nervous about the journey and more nervous about the thought of Thorin looking at him.

"Well," Will whispered, his eyebrows rising to meet his hairline. "Isn't that interesting." he gestured with a gentle motion of his hand when George looked over at him. "They're acting almost the same as they do in the future. Seems like it's been that way from the very beginning."

George snorted quietly, then nodded. "Of course it has. Why would it not be, it is not like they are anything but in love." he sighed. "I do not know if that makes this easier or much more difficult."

"I would imagine-" Will cut himself off, shaking his head before looping the reins of his horse around his arm and switching to sign language. 'I would imagine that it'll make some things harder, especially for poor Bilbo. I don't know about the entirety of their adventure, but to the point that I do know...' he frowned, then made a face that expressed the heartbreak he felt on behalf of the hobbit. 'Not sure what rules we're operating under, with the trip into the past, but I almost hope for the ability to alter the timeline.'

Following his example and taking a quick look at the rest of their borrowed company, George nodded. 'From what I know of it, there was a breech in the trust between our hobbit and our dwarven prince. Why else would Bilbo have had the Arkenstone, if not because of a disagreement in values?'

'Why would your account cut out after that-' Will's shoulders drooped as he realized, and he looked away. 'Oh.'

George shook his head, reaching over to tangle their hands together and pull Will's hand to his mouth, pressing firm kisses to the man's knuckles. "Don't you dare blame yourself for that." he spoke firmly as well, shaping the words carefully so that the quiet of his voice wouldn't cause Will to lose the meaning of them. "You did what needed to be done."

Balin looked back at them, an eyebrow raised as he clucked at his pony to get her moving again. "Are you coming with us or must we leave you behind?"

Next to him, his brother rolled his eyes, nudging his pony with a heel and moving to travel alongside their King. Now that Bilbo had caught up to them and gotten a pony for himself, it seemed that they were to be off.  
Off on a journey that had almost destroyed many.

"What fun..." George hissed, taking the reins in his hands again.

 

XxXxX

 

Torrential downpour had to be one of George's least favorite things, especially when the rain felt ice-cold and was sliding down the back of his neck.

Up ahead were the shapes of familiar people who weren't familiar, all of them dulled around the edges by the rain. Through the mist and the water, he could faintly see Gandalf's mouth moving, the wizard's words aimed at Bilbo, but he couldn't hear anything over the blasted rain. When he looked at Thorin, the water-logged Prince seemed liable to lash out, his braids plastered against his skin and his clothing soaked almost through.

Fili and Kili looked patently miserable, even as they tried to bring cheer to the rest of the party. Their smiles were shaky, their teeth chattering as they spoke, lewd jokes and bold stories half-lost to the hiss of the rain.

They had been travelling for a week, and the Arkenstone seemed to be trying to burn a hole in it's bag.

Everytime he so much as shifted, the heat the gem gave off nearly scorched him, as if it were growing more impatient with the slow pace they were being forced to take. Due to the close quarters of the group and the few places they could find to sleep dry, it wasn't as if George could speak to it and make it listen to reason.

It was like walking with a sword hanging over his head, the possibility of the thing simply separating him from Will and forcing him to deal with it alone. Before this trip had started, George had known of the maddening effects of dealing with the Arkenstone, had heard about them from the very people whose lives had been almost ruined by it. He had not been prepared for the paranoia and the sadness that clenched at the back of his throat when someone came close to touching the bag it hid within.

Even Will was subject to his burgeoning madness.

The younger man was being patient, was helping him move and making sure that he never fell behind, but he could tell that the worry was starting to wear on him.

George was a week off of his medication, it didn't look like they would be getting home anytime soon, and they still had to keep a low profile amongst the group of beings they traveled with. It made sense that Will was worried, and every time he thought about it, it just sent him deeper into a spiral of nerves and fear, clenching his throat tighter until he could barely breathe.

"George?"

He turned, feeling the circles beneath his eyes and the dread that settled like a knife in his back. 

Will was staring at him as they moved, a hand patting at the back of his horse's neck and a frown on his face. "George, give me the bag." he held out his hand, fingers open and beckoning. "I can see what it is doing to you, and I will not let it happen without at least a fight."

"But-" George licked his lips, the action made redundant by the rain. "I can't-"

"You can and you will, hand it over." Will reached over, nodding when George didn't protest the hand on the strap of the bag, the man pulling it off of him and settling it over his own shoulders. "I will not let it ruin you." he grumbled, voice almost washed away. It sat between his legs, framed by his thighs as he relaxed back into the saddle his horse wore. 

The weight that lifted off him was little, but it was enough to get his head back above the water. 

In a manner most cliched, the rain started to let up and allow the sun to peek through the trees. "There we are!" Dori spoke cheerfully when it was quiet enough for the entire party to hear him. "Some proper weather, at last. We should look for camp, it'll be dark soon enough and we will want time ta settle down fer the night."

He pulled back until he was riding next to George and Will, a smile on his face until the very moment that both of his brothers looked away. "Is he alright, laddie?" he addressed Will, jerking his head towards George.

"There's a medicine that he is meant to be taking, he's having trouble without it." Will said quietly, a smile that was trying to be reassuring on his face. "I didn't think that he would be having this much of a problem without it, but it seems to be a really big issue, and I don't know what to do." The moment the words left his mouth, he winced. "I didn't mean to just- We'll be alright."

Dori frowned, then looked ahead. "If it's medicine that's needed...Give me half a second."

He clucked to his pony and nudged her forwards, riding up to Balin and speaking quietly with him for a few minutes. Despite the soaked clothing and the mess that had been made of his hair, the former-advisor smiled diplomatically, the expression quickly replaced with no small amount of worry as he listened to Dori's words.

When they had finished their exchange, Dori rode back to the two men who were displaced in time and sighed. "He says that he'll talk ta Oin fer you, and that it'll be just that particular dwarrow who'll know what the malady is. He didn' ask and I didn' tell." he leaned over, patting gently at Will's arm and leaning just past him to put a careful hand on George's. "We'll get yer lad all fixed up, no worries. Right as, well," he held up a hand and peered upwards to the sky that could be seen between the trees. "Right as rain soon enough, don' worry."

"Thank you." Will could see George's shoulders sag in relief, even as the man's eyes slid closed and he pressed his forehead to the back of his horse's neck. Nodding his thanks to the dwarf, he took George's hand in his own, reaching out the other to steady Dori as he sat back up. 

The older male's eyes were shining with something that he couldn't name, the same worry that shone in them when Ori had complained a few days back of a strange rash on his arm. It was the quiet fear, the nervous protection of an older brother who had to protect the younger siblings, and it was familiar in a way that wasn't familiar at all. The same thoughts that had struck George and been whispered to him days before were in his mind now.

These were the people they knew, but in an undeveloped sort of way.

Years before they had met them, this is who these people were. It was to be less than a year before they would meet him-as-Bard, the months of travel ahead suddenly seeming like mere days, but it was to be centuries before they met him-as-Wilhelm and that very thought nearly petrified him.

What if they changed the course of history so thoroughly that none of their future came to pass?

Will shivered, the feeling of being watched making him suddenly nervous. His mother might have said that it was the sensation of someone walking over his grave, but it felt worse than that. It didn't feel like someone was walking over the thing, he wouldn't be aware of that at all, it was a silly fiction.

It felt more like someone was making his grave and forcing him to watch.

 

XxXxX

 

"I have decided," Will whispered to George as he combed grass and dirt out of the man's hair, bringing back the natural curls that framed his face just so. "That I really truly hate trolls."

George laughed, a miserable-sounding noise that could almost pass as amusement. "I do not think anyone likes trolls. I do not think that even trolls like other trolls, there is a barrier that prevents the species from doing any one thing together other than mating and producing more of the same." he curled himself a little tighter, wrapping his arms around Will's waist. "I could have sworn that I was not this awful before."

"You're fine." he whispered soothingly, rubbing gently at his scalp and dislodging a dried-up patch of mud behind his ear. Now that they had settled again after Bilbo had nearly been killed and then saved the lives of everyone, they had the fire going again to finish drying out their clothes and to finish their meal. "Nothing I can't handle. Mostly I'm just worried about you."

Oin made a slow path towards them, watching as his younger brother went running off to the run-down cottage that had once belonged to a farmer and his wife. His hearing trumpet, thankfully, was still intact after the encounter with the trolls.

"Wha' is the partic'ler malady which effects our friend here, eh?" he muttered, kneeling down to look at George and give him a once over. "Doesn' seem ta be phys'cal, so I mus' presume it's somethin' else." he waved at George's head, tapping an oddly-nimble finger against the man's temple. "Somethin' in the mind?"

"It's-" Will frowned, still playing with George's hair. "I don't know how to describe it, exactly. A shroud of gloom, perhaps?"

Considering this for a moment, Oin nodded, his eyes flickering between the two men, focusing intently on Will's lips as he asked, "A constan' sort of sadness? Or jus' a vague one?" he prodded at George's chest for a moment, waiting for the answer. 

Will sighed. "The first one," he answered, making sure to shape the words carefully as he said them. Oin was lip-reading, and there was a particular need for the medicine-maker to be able to understand him. "He normally has something that he takes for it that someone gives him, but we don't have any with us due to an oversight on someone's part." he paused in his hair-petting when Oin nudged his hand away and frowned, tapping at George's chin to get him to look up.

"Yer gonna be fine." the healer promised, a small smile on his usually dour face. "Got jus' the thing."

From one of the pouches on his belt, he pulled out a small sachet of herbs.

"Go' two a' them, lucky enough." he handed it to Will, curling the man's fingers around it securely. "The mix a' herbs is easy, as is the findin' a' them. And I have plen'y, seein' as I need it meself. Ain't no shame in needin' somethin' like this, even if it took me years ta see that."

He patted the back of Will's hand, nodding at it. "Brew it as tea, shou'd help keep 'im right. A couple a' cups a' it a day shou'd do it." he smiled at the two men, then heaved himself off the ground and went to talk to Balin, the advisor nudging their foreheads together briefly before turning back to his conversation with their King.

George watched him go, a somewhat confused expression on his face. "Oh," he breathed out, eyes going wide as he watched the dwarf interacting with the others. "Oin told me about this once."

"About what?" Will asked as he stowed the rudimentary teabag in a pocket. 

"He lost his hearing in a mining accident when he was younger," George answered slowly, allowing Will to pull him into a sitting position, the Arkenstone cradled between them. "He hated his hearing trumpet for the longest time, and it was through careful consideration and research that he and Balin figured out how to handle what followed."

Will blinked slowly, then frowned. "And how is it that our versions of those two aren't back together again?"

"Stubborn old men who refuse to bow to anyone's will without being broken." George muttered softly, his eyes slipping closed as he rested his forehead on Will's shoulder. "Even their own."

 

XxXxX

 

"Radagast is interesting." George muttered to Will as they walked through a hallway in Rivendell. The rest of the company had been taken to their rooms already, but Elrond had asked to speak with them. "I think I might know how to help him in our point in time."

"His mind has been rather scattered for ages," came the voice of Gandalf behind them. "I do not doubt that if he has lived to see your age, then he would be much the same." They both turned to look at him and he smiled, leaning upon his staff when he came to a halt behind them. "But do not judge him for how he seems. Despite some opinions, he is quite clear-headed when he needs to be."

"Right," Will nodded. "Saruman thinks him addled."

"You know of this?" Gandalf would have taken a puff of his pipe if he'd had it with him them, instead choosing to raise his chin and one of his eyebrows at the same time. 

George snorted, would have cackled but Will put a hand over his mouth.

"We know of it. Radagast in our time is something of a grudge-holder about it." Will bit his tongue in an attempt to silence the warning of the future that would slip out if he let it. Gandalf didn't get to know, not yet, that Saruman would betray him and many others. They were interlopers in the past, they were not aware of how much would change with their very presence; they could not interfere without reason. 

Gandalf's future was not their concern, not just yet.

Trying to ignore the pang of worry that sparked in his chest from this thought, Will nodded and pulled his hand away from George's mouth. The former-dragon sighed, following it for a moment and pressing a kiss to his palm. 

"Before you go off and say that it isn't like him to hold a grudge, I must tell you that it is extenuating circumstances." George hastily added in, clasping his hands in front of him and rocking back on his heels. "The very nature of which I may not divulge to you just yet. All I may say is that he has his reasons, and I actually agree with them, which is strange to you but normal to us."

"You navigate a time not your own well." Gandalf said after studying their faces for a moment. "I must admit that I was somewhat worried about you two."

"George has had several years of unsettled life to live, and I've had more of the same." Will shrugged at the wizard, watching as his face shifted into a pleased expression. Pressing a hand to his boyfriend's lower back, Will raised an eyebrow at Gandalf. "Why do I feel like I'm missing something here?" he muttered, then nodded slowly. "Alright, so we're in Rivendell, we're well-fed and clean and we have restocked our supplies- Oh son of a..." he trailed off, jaw dropping. 

With a clenched fist, George sighed. "And we're sneaking out of here before the sun rises so that Saruman and the rest of the council cannot prevent it." 

"Precisely." Gandalf nodded once, then turned to greet someone, a smile on his face as he did. "Lord Elrond, these are the two of which I spoke, the ones who wish to see this quest to an end that may or may not be favorable." he turned his gaze to a spot just behind Will and George, a wry smile twisting his thin lips. "What is your opinion of them?"

A cool hand came to rest on Will's shoulder and he nearly jumped out of his skin, turning to face the elf. 

"I see that there is no small measure of bravery in each of them, particularly when it comes to looking into the eyes of Death himself." Elrond gave a disarming half-bow, his eyes closing and his dark hair falling in soft waves over his shoulders. "I fear for the safety of many on this journey, but not for them." he turned to the wizard, straightening out to his usual height that almost dwarfed the two men. "But perhaps I am mistaken, perhaps you see another path for them."

"You must understand," Gandalf stepped closer, lowering his voice. "I have heard of terrible dangers."

Elrond shook his head. "Then perhaps it is for the best that we continue on to our meeting. I shall give the guards at the door a break, ask of them a task that brings them away from their sentry." he all but smirked at Will, a pleased little curl at the edge of his mouth. "If someone were to make their way out those doors at that time, then it would go unrecorded and become an impossibility to prevent."

Eyes wide as he watched the two walk away, George reached out for Will's hand, curling his fingers tightly around the other man's. "Did any of what they were saying to each other sound like it was in code to you?"

"I am so glad you said that." Will muttered, pulling George close against his side. "Because I thought I was imagining it."

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> I really am sorry for being gone so long on this story, but I needed a break. This is a fairly intense one to write and it requires a lot of research and things in my life have been completely crazy lately.
> 
> I hope you enjoy.


	4. Down in the Depths of Goblin Town

Weeks passed as they traveled along the path to Erebor, an increasingly grumpy Thorin falling from the lead in order to speak with his company and then storming back towards the front.

"Does it seem like he's angry about whatever he's hearing?" Will asked, a frown on his face as he watched it happen once more, studying the stiff-spined King as he nearly strangled the reins of his pony. The bag holding the Arkenstone settled on his hip, knocking into his knee in a steady pattern. "He always looks at Bilbo, like it's his fault."

"Ay, I do believe Thorin is angry about the hobbit." Dori answered him from where he rode on the other side of George. "If you remember, he wasn't too happy about him coming along in the first place."

George nodded, rubbing tiredly at his eyes. "They will fight about things before this journey is done." he said, the words soft with exhaustion. His eyes were lined in shadows, the dark circles beneath them thick enough to bring worry to the face of anyone looking at him. "There is no shortage of things that they will fight about."

"Lad, are ye alright?" Dori looked up at him, "Yeh don't look yer best right now."

"I am merely tired, thank you for your concern." 

With a worried look at his partner, Will clucked gently at his horse, nudging her closer to George. "It's been an interesting few months, and we've both been exposed to that which we are not used to." he put a hand on the man's arm. "Do you need me to guide your horse while you sleep?"

With a half-movement, George frowned. "Think so...Exhausted."

"Here," Will took the reins, looping them through his own horse's and guiding her as close as possible to the horse George rode. "Rest your head on me. We're going slow, I'd prefer to have you in a place I can make sure you're alright." he smiled sadly at his lover, stroking a hand through his hair. When George went without protest, his eyes slipping closed and his breath escaping in a small sigh, Will's smile slipped off his face, exposing the worry and fear beneath it.

"Are yeh sure he's alright, lad?" Dori asked softly. "This cannae be right, he looks near to death in some manner."

Will swallowed nervously. "I don't know. When we camp for the night, I think I'll get Oin to look him over. This is terrifying." he brushed a finger across George's cheek, chasing a stray hair off the stubble starting to transition into a full beard. "He's just been so exhausted lately, and I feel fine. I think it might be his position in this part of the timeline."

"Aye," Dori nodded ahead to where Oin rode. "Surely must be. No other explanation for it. We'll get Oin to look at him, sure enough. He'll be right again." he swallowed nervously, his eyebrows furrowing. "It isn't...No, never mind that." he shook his head. 

"What?" Will looked at the smaller male, his eyes wide. "What is it?"

"From what I know, your man there was a dragon once upon a time, yes?" Dori frowned as he seemed to turn a thought over in his mind, furry eyebrows curled down tightly over his eyes. "Gold Sickness is what creates dragons, lad."

For a moment, the world seemed to pause.

Will's next breath was ragged, fear turning his chest to ice. "He's too close to- No." he clenched his hands tightly on the reins of his horse. "I'm not going to let him lose himself to that, not now, not ever again!"

"Good lad." Dori nodded, a hint of fear in his eyes. "Keep him safe."

 

XxXxX

 

The fire crackled, the dwarves sleeping all around him as he held George's head in his lap. 

His fingers were tangled in the thick mop of black hair, scratching gently at his scalp while his sleep was fitful. Will's eyes were closed, his head tilted back against the wall as he counted each twitch of muscle he could feel from George. The man was dead asleep, had fallen into it the moment he'd been allowed, his body falling flat on his bedroll with an alarming sort of heaviness.

Quietly, his hearing aids squealed, reacting to the faint whispering.

Without giving away that he was awake, without moving his head, Will opened his eyes. Bilbo was standing across the cave from him, arguing almost tearfully, near as could be to silent in an echoing space. 

"No. No. You can't turn back now. You're part of the company. You're one of us."

"I'm not now, am I?"

His eyes fixed on them, Will frowned. Without the knowledge of whether or not this had happened before, he wasn't able to make a choice to try to change it. George shifted in his lap, muttering something before settling again. 

By the time he looked back up, the hobbit was heading towards the mouth of the cave, his pack slung over his shoulder.

Beneath them, the ground gave a shudder, then heaved and buckled before cracking open, all of them falling down a dark tunnel. Every dwarf was certainly awake by the time they hit the bottom, surrounded by sharp weapons and angry faces of goblins. The angry hissing that went up at the sight of the Dwarven compan was loud, louder than anything else Will had ever heard in the time he'd spent with hearing.

"Will!" George hissed, clutching his hand to his chest. His eyes were wide, having been abruptly woken in the fall, and he looked miserable, but he seemed alright. His left wrist was visibly purpling, the width of it wrong. Already swelling from the impact, it seemed.

"I'm fine," Will managed to mutter as they were forced to their feet, made to march along behind and in front of goblins. "I'm fine, I swear." his voice was odd, the tone of it off as he frowned. 

One of his hands curled around his left ear, a furrow in his brow as he stuck close to his partner.

 

XxXxX

 

George swallowed a lump in his throat at the sight of the Goblin King, the massive bulk of the creature in a rickety looking throne sending shivers down his spine. 

The bag with the Arkenstone still hung around Will's shoulders, tucked carefully into his belt. He'd patted himself down for it until George had pointed it out. With a grateful smile, Will had nodded, clenching their hands together. His smile had been polluted with fear, a tense sort of terror curling around his eyes as he tried to stay in good humor surrounded by goblins.

If they cared to look for the hobbit, George knew, he'd be found to be missing.

A conundrum, to be sure, but it was far less worrying to know of that than what else he knew of. Something was wrong with Will, his reactions slower than usual, and his eyes slightly unfocused. He kept his left side pressed against George, like-

He could have smacked himself.

A fall from that sort of height could have definitely dislodged a hearing aid, and they were stuck in a distant enough time period that he'd never be able to get it back if he'd lost it. George breathed through his nose, stepping in front of Will as the Goblin King surveyed the group, beady eyes focusing on the weaker and the smaller. His gaze lingered on Ori for a moment, and George felt more than saw the other two Ri brothers step closer to the youngest.

For the first time in what felt like ages, Will was scared.

And the Goblin King knew it, could probably smell it with his sharp little nose. The shape of his face was lumpy, and he was not likely to be intelligent in any way, but he had sharp senses to make up for it.

"- start with the youngest." George heard the tail end of his order, fear catching in his throat as he watched Ori struggle to stay with his brothers. The youngest dwarf was indeed the red headed scribe, George realized. It was only a twist of fate that he'd ended up older than the future versions of Fili and Kili.

"Wait!" Thorin's voice boomed out, bringing the room to a halt. 

The Goblin King sneered, an unpleasant twist of his lips. "Look who it is," he rumbled, pulling off a mocking sort of bow. "Thorin, son of Thrain, son of Thror, King Under The Mountain." he chortled, a spray of saliva leaving his thick lips. "But there is no mountain, and you are no king. There are those who pay a pretty price for your pretty head, Thorin, son of Thrain, son of Thror." he pulled back out of the bow with some effort. "Even without a crown sitting atop it."

George swallowed nervously, tightening his grip on Will's hand. 

This was not going to end well.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Okay, so here's where I apologize for being gone from this fandom so long. I really am sorry about that, but this story is intensive to write and I started college just after the most recent before this update.
> 
> And yeah, short chapters. I know, I know, I'm sorry, but it feels like it suits the story better. The chapter count is also going to be changed the moment I post this chapter because 20 is wrong. I think it might end up being longer, but it might also be shorter, and so it's just a big question mark for now.
> 
> Tell me what you think?


	5. Do Not Wander Where I Cannot Go

Goblins, Will decided, were some of the worst things he had ever had the misfortune of coming across.

They were chaotic, hateful creatures with claws and a tendency to stick a weapon sharply into your side. Not enough to harm, not without the order to do so, but it was still a touchy situation. Especially since he was now down a hearing aid, the fall into the underground costing him half of his sense. George looked to have a broken wrist, the skin dark with heavy bruising. 

It was a bad place to be in, survival-wise.

If he had been asked for a percentage of survivability in their situation, he would probably give a number in the low tens. Everything about this was miserable and practically spelled 'Bad End' for them. The dwarves were trying to recoup, Thorin seemed to want to draw first blood, and the poor Hobbit-

The Hobbit was missing.

Will blinked, some of his panic ebbing away as he focused on that thought. When had he last seen Bilbo?

He remembered seeing him in the cave above before they had fallen through. He didn't remember seeing the smallest form in the group of now-prisoners. In fact, he couldn't remember seeing Bilbo anywhere after the cave. Had he made it out?

How badly were they messing with the timeline?

George's hand wrapped around his again, squeezing gently. Somehow, he seemed to have figured out the missing hearing aid problem. It might have been helped by the fact that Will was pressing into his side, but it could have also been just him. 

The Arkenstone hung from his belt, cleverly hidden within his clothing, and it felt almost like a noose.

Off to one side, he could see a commotion, a small tidal wave of goblins, thin limbs flailing as they tried to escape from something. His right side picked up the sound of metal clattering across wood and he watched as Thorin's sword skidded towards the edge of the platform. As if it were a signal, as if some planning had gone into this at all, the entire party jumped up all at once. When the King flailed his staff around, his pig-like eyes wild with anger and fear, his mouth moving around words that Will could only half hear, the man dove for Thorin's sword. It was still half in its scabbard and he almost cut his hand on the exposed part of the blade as he scrambled to catch it before it slipped away. 

Taking a deep breath, Will slid it back in completely before slipping through the crowds to hand it to Thorin hilt-first. "Here," he was unsure of his volume, trying to be understood despite the chaos, "Your sword," 

The dwarf gave him an odd look, hesitating for just a moment before taking it, immediately putting it to use as he fought his way towards Gandalf. Once at his side, the two started running. Will could see that they were saying something, but his understanding was lost. 

A hand on his waist nearly made him jump out of his skin, his arms raised to defend himself before he saw George's face. 

His broken hand was still clutched close to his chest, but he had his sword back and he looked _angry_. The proper angry, the sort of angry he had gotten when they had first met.

(George had told him about what had happened, how worried he had been about the strange young man and his slow, slurred responses. Had told him about what had been said to his classmates as a result of their actions towards him.

In a way, he wished he could relive that night all over again. The gorgeous man with the golden eyes and the soft curls of dark hair around his sharp face. Almost like a knight in shining armor.)

His eyes were concerned underneath the anger and it made Will feel relieved. 

His George wasn't lost underneath the re-emergence of Smaug.

 

xXxXx

 

George could practically feel the steam hissing from his mouth and nose as he whipped around and threw a goblin off the side of a bridge.

This was hell, it _had_ to be, Will was scared and back to being completely unable to hear on one side and he could barely defend the man. It made a part of him feel small and useless and it made another part of him feel just as grandiose and mighty as he had been before. This was his world, this was his part of the timeline, this was _his_. Goblins be damned, Wilhelm Espenson was his new treasure and he planned on hoarding him for an eternity if he was allowed.

He snarled as he jabbed his sword, lightning-quick, into a goblin's gut, pushing him to follow so many of his brethren. 

They would not keep Will from him, they would not keep this group of people from safety, and if he had to burn their entire city to the ground, so be it. His arm ached in a way he almost didn't notice anymore, the skin a nasty color mixture that promised a slow healing time, but he didn't care. All that mattered was safety for Will. His arm could be fixed later, there might be surgeries in his future but it didn't matter. 

Will mattered.

It seemed like forever, but eventually they were outside again. The phantom wings on his back stretched in the warm light of the sun and George cracked his neck. The yellow receded from his eyes, leaving the soft gold behind. Next to him, Will stumbled to a halt, his chest heaving from the exertion of running for his life.

"Are you alright?" he managed to get the words out with barely a hiss behind them. He could feel his pupils still constricted tight, could still feel his pulse hammering at a mile a minute. His words were clumsy, he knew that, but he could make his lips form them well. Will was missing a hearing aid and his movements were sluggish, but it could be fixed. It had to be able to be fixed, _would_ be fixed, the moment they got back to their timeline.

Will's hands were shaking.

George re-sheathed his sword, taking them both in his uninjured hand, clenching his fist carefully around as many of Will's fingers as he could. He brought them to his mouth, kissing each knuckle gently, looking Will in the eyes as he did. His heart was still racing, remembering the escape they had just made and Will's eyes were large and warm. It was just about enough to melt him inside.

The words suddenly felt like too little, an urge starting beneath his skin to lay his claim on this man. To mark him, to show the world that he was spoken for, that he belonged somewhere. 

An outcry from the dwarves had him spinning around, still holding Will's hands in his own.

"The hobbit is not here!"

Dwalin's face was twisted, almost comically so and it set George back on edge as he listened to the building anger. Bilbo was, indeed, nowhere to be seen.

He remembered this part of their story.

The halfling had gotten into some trouble with Gollum, the very beast whose nest had triggered their arrival in this time. He'd gained a troublesome ring from the whole mess and if George looked carefully enough at the surrounding area...

There.

It was hazy, but he remembered the feeling of something like that. In a bag, strapped to his lover's waist, the Arkenstone wasn't nearly as strongly felt, but he remembered how it had been. He remembered the faint buzz of power, the feeling of licking a nine-volt battery. He'd know the aura of something made of the same material.

“What happened exactly? Tell me!”

Gandalf's voice rose above the rest of the confused murmurs and whispered doubts, prompting Thorin with his red face to step forward. His expression was torn between anger and disbelief but his words were hateful. 

“I’ll tell you what happened! Master Baggins saw his chance and he took it! He’s thought of nothing but his soft bed and his warm hearth since first he stepped out of his door! We will not be seeing our Hobbit again," He licked his lips, dark eyes going unfocused for a fraction of a second. George could practically see the small seed of heartbreak in them.

"He is long gone.”

George counted down the seconds, waiting and silently urging Bilbo to step into view. Urged him to remove his ring and face the Dwarven King. 

He could have cheered when it happened.

“No," came the hobbit's soft voice, stronger than it had been before. His curls were mussed, an absolute mess around his face and his clothes were close to tatters, but he looked defiant and strong. "He isn’t.”

The look in Thorin's eyes might have been enough to make him smirk and say something about lovestruck fools at one point, but George felt too tired to say anything.

The stubborn asses would just have to figure it out for themselves.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> ...So, uh.  
>  I know it's been a little while, but I hope people are still enjoying this series. I'm still having fun writing it. 
> 
> Tell me what you think in the comments? I really do appreciate people telling me things. People telling me they like my work is why four things got posted by me yesterday. I was so happy and bubbly about the comments that I literally went "YEs, time to write!" and wrote all four things. I think it holds true for any author, really. Tell us you like it and more will happen, I can almost guarantee it.


	6. A Snag In The Plan

If goblins were bad, orcs were worse.

There had been a lull, a time of quiet and bandages and Balin guiding George over to Oin to have the medic patch his arm up. After a second, he'd returned for Will and brought him over as well. After a short explanation in their dwarven tongue, the language he had never gotten used to and probably would never get used to, Will had been settled in against George's side.

Balin had nodded when he muttered a thank you, his words muttered and almost useless. 

The adrenaline was fading from his system, every last ache and pain making itself known when he'd heard the scream. With only one working hearing aid and the tiredness he was feeling, he hadn't been sure he'd actually heard something until the rest of the group had looked up in fear.

Now, he was stuck in a tree, his hand bleeding and flames licking the branches below his feet.

Above him, he could hear Gandalf calling out something, further towards safety than himself. In the confusion and the terror, he and George had been separated. Their hands had been pulled loose as the dwarves rushed them to the relative safety of the higher tree branches. He'd been left further back, off-balance and feeling sick.

The Arkenstone burned in the pouch, felt like the sun itself against his skin as he clung desperately to the branch holding him a few scant inches above the threatening teeth.

Beneath him, Azog prowled, glaring fiercely up into the trees as he tried to pick Thorin out of the pack, growling in his language. Something about it seemed to anger the Dwarven King because it wasn't long before he snarled back, his face draining to a dead white after another remark from the Orc. Someone in the tree next to him shifted, a pair of golden eyes peering through the darkness and focusing on Will.

George.

The man shifted in his perch, his nails biting into the bark of the tree as he studied the potential paths, seeming to be mapping out a trail to Will, back down into danger. Will shook his head, waving him away.

Too dangerous, he mouthed the words to his lover. Don't come back down yet.

A warg snapped at his feet, managed to get within a foot of them. When it leaped up again, he smashed his foot into the thing's face. There was no small amount of satisfaction when the kick burst the creature's eye, sending it snarling into retreat. The attacks grew higher, the roaring of imminent death on his heels as he braced himself. With a deep breath, he threw himself into the next tree over, scrambling for purchase as he landed. A large hand extended down to him, the thick metal of a knuckle duster making the identity obvious as he took it. Between him and Dwalin, he was quickly settled higher in the tree, the dwarf pushing him against the body of it to help keep him steady.

"Yer insane," he muttered, watching the others carefully.

The trees began toppling, a domino effect that had Bilbo, Gandalf, the princes and Dori nearly falling off the edge of the cliff. As they fell, they crashed into others, forcing Will and Dwalin into the next one over.

They were in the same tree as Gandalf now.

From where Will sat, he could see everyone, George's eyes shifted to find him in the darkness again. A flare of brightness broke their eye contact as Gandalf threw something with all of his strength.

Another one fell past his head and Will noticed that it was a pinecone.

His body ached and his head throbbed and there was a ringing in his ear that was making him panic and the next thing he knew-

They were being carried by eagles.

The sky around them was beginning to go light, dawn on the way as if to chase off the darkness. Behind him, George had an arm wrapped around his waist, his chin pressed into Will's shoulder. His entire body was rumbling with the growl he was letting out.

"You're going to make our eagle panic," Will muttered, tracing sluggish fingers over George's cheek. "And then we'll be dropped and I don't think we're close enough to the ground to survive."

"I-" George's eyes slid closed for a moment as he breathed. "You killed a warg. There were a number dead, but you dropped down from the tree and you jammed a firey pinecone into the face of it. I think it lodged in the eye socket. From there, the entire creature burst into flames because of whatever was in the fur to make it look like a proper warbeast in Orc culture," he laughed, his eyes sliding back open as he wrapped his arm tighter around Will. "My Warg slayer," he muttered fondly. "The dwarves were impressed, those that saw. Thorin is unconscious, as far as I know, and Bilbo is probably panicking."

"Why is he panicking?"

"Because he attacked Azog to defend Thorin."

Will sat up a little, turning to face George. "He- What?" he searched George's eyes for any sign that the man was lying. "He attacked Azog. Small hobbit, tinier than a dwarf, scared of the world and out on an adventure for the first time. How much are we messing up their timeline?"

"I do not know," George swallowed nervously. "I am beginning to fear how different they will be when we return home. Technically, Bilbo attacked a different Orc, but he jumped in front of all of them and pointed his sword at Azog and I do not know what to think now. For one so small, he carries so much bravery inside of him, all it seems to take is the near loss of the one he is falling in love with to reveal it.”

“Hasn’t he always been like that?” Will smiled, a little weak for how exhausted he was. “You’ve told me that he did much the same when Thorin was threatened in our time.”

“That is true,” with a sigh, George let himself lay down a bit more, the same exhaustion pulling him into a sagging line of bones. His words slurred when he spoke, his eyes pinned on Will’s face. “You are so very pretty, my Wilhelm.” His breathing started to even out, one of his hands curling tightly around Will’s hand. His skin was scorching, almost dangerously hot, as if he were running a fever. His eyes, peeking from underneath the loose curls that had once been tidily cut bangs, were bright when they were open. 

The sort of gleam a dragon got when looking at his treasure.

 

~

 

George awoke again when the eagles landed, jostled from his unconscious state by Will’s hands running through his hair.

When his legs touched the ground, he felt unsteady and bruised. Several hundred feet of falling and landing and falling again was not kind to his body, he thought as he stretched out his arms and followed behind Will. The other still wore the pouch with the Arkenstone, somehow unfazed by the aura it was pulsing with. The need for owning things, for claiming and holding-onto and keeping and snarling at those who would interfere, that was somehow not affecting him.

Ahead of them was Thorin and the others.

Bilbo was being snarled at.

George let out a small growl of his own, his hands clenching into fists at his sides as he quickened his pace. It wasn’t fair, his mind was hissing the words out, that Bilbo is treated this way by the one he loves ever so much. 

Will caught his hand in his own, the look on his face a mixture of amusement and fear.

Somehow, in the time between the initial yelling and the moment George had gotten distracted, the stubborn-as-a-mule dwarven king had gotten his arms wrapped around the hobbit.

“There are birds returning to the mountain!” someone called out.

George looked up, trying desperately to string together moments. Birds. Small, winged creatures that took to the air, bits of feather and meat. Noises in the daylight outside of the halls, bits of memories that he wanted to hold on to. Bushes and plants, something about the darkness and the person with him. Lights in circles, sharp plants that tore at hands and faces. 

What was his mother’s name?

He couldn’t remember.

His hands flexed, still curled around Will’s (Beautiful Will, wonderful Will, his his his.) and he breathed deeply through his nose. Trying to remember, he turned and shoved his face into the man’s shoulder. Why couldn’t he remember? He remembered the rush of noises as something fell underneath him.

He remembered blue and white, a flag of some sort, on the front of a small building.

This was disassociation.

He thought.

He couldn’t remember, why could he remember? He could remember the call of the stone, it was asking for him to come closer and hold onto it. He could remember the clang of gold coins and lovingly-made crowns and necklaces and the like. The sound of the swirling together under his weight, the noises that echoed when he set his foot down. 

What was his name?

Greg?

Garren?

Ger…

His name, what was his _name_?

His chest was heaving as he tried to recall, tried to breathe enough to get air to his mind. Breathing would help, he remembered that. Counting slowly would help if he was calm enough but he was not calm enough. The numbers slipped out of his head like water through his cupped hands. His heart was beating loudly in his chest, his hands were shaking, his head was a mass of pain and aches. 

_What was his name?_

He closed his eyes, taking a deep breath through his nose.

His name.

_Smaug._

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> So...Depression spirals and anxiety combined with a full college courseload and a bad living situation make for things not getting updated. Don't worry, I haven't abandoned this story, it's just...Draining to write. The plot for the next several chapters is stressful and no one in the story is really going to have a good time. 
> 
> I'll try to get the next chapter out before an almost-entire-year passes again.
> 
> George, in particular, is not going to have a Good Time (TM).
> 
> ...Is anyone even still reading this?


	7. Crossing Paths

“It would do you good,” Gandalf’s voice was quiet in the near-silence of the sleeping house. “To get some rest as well.”

Will sighed, still running his fingers through George’s hair. “Something is changing about him,” his words were quiet as well. “Like he’s not…There. Like it’s still his face and his body but something inside of him is changing to be someone else. Tell me, Gandalf, how do you suppose I can get some sleep,” he paused, his hand going still on his partner’s head. “When all I can see when I close my eyes is something going horrifically wrong?”

“He worries you.” Gandalf stood from his post near the door, kneeling in front of Will and eyeing George almost nervously. “You can tell that something is changing?”

“Yes.”

“How so?”

“Because I watched him and how he behaved.” Will’s face was drawn tight in fear and panic. “I know who he was and who he is and who he is now is much preferred to who he was. We are lives lived again, found each other in the shifting streams of time and the changes of our situations. He is someone who helps those he knows. George Anasztaz, the man who possibly saved my life one night when things went wrong.”

Gandalf’s eyes, icy and normally calm, were wide as he contemplated the two men before him. “Have we made a mistake, bringing you with us?”

“I don’t think so,” Will shook his head. “But I don’t know what’s happening to him. I also don’t know how well I’ll do in a little while. His mind seems to be failing him, my body is failing me. This- This thing,” he dropped a hand against the bag he still wore on his hip. “Chose the two people who needed to stay in their time to get this particular job done. George needs to be somewhere he can access his medicine, I need to be somewhere I can access my own.”

“What medicines do you take?” 

“Nothing that can be found here,” Will hesitated for a moment, then reached up and pulled out his hearing aid. “Speak slowly and move your lips, I’ll be able to read what you’re saying off of them.”

“You are hard of hearing.”

“I am entirely unable to hear without this device,” Will’s voice was strained, unsure of the pitch and volume. “And I lost the other when we were in the goblin caves. We are resting in the house of a skin changer and I can barely hear and George is acting strange and I do not like any of what is occurring around us.”

Gandalf frowned, his hands curling in his robes for a moment. He looked unsure, for the first time since Will had met him. Almost afraid, as if he could see what lay ahead. “The mountain is before us, we will reach it soon. I am fearful of what must happen next, I must leave you for a time.” He handed Will back his hearing aid, watched the younger man put it back in. “Is there something else that powers this device?”

“A small thing called a battery,” Will nodded.

“May you not need it for some time yet,” Gandalf put a hand to his chest, closing his eyes for a moment. “A small hope, a light in the darkness.”

He stood slowly. “And may we find our journey’s end peaceably.”

 

It was a day later when Gandalf left their company.

Will watched him go, his heart heavy as he stood at George’s side. The man’s eyes had shifted and it made Will nervous. Before this journey, before the time travel, before everything that had happened to them, there had been flecks of brown and green at the middle. Heterochromia of a gentle degree. His eyes were vivid and unforgettable, but never the stark yellow they were now.

George watched Gandalf leave them like a predator would watch prey.

Bilbo worried him as well, the small creature that would one day be his friend was acting suspiciously as well. If Will remembered correctly, this was when he had found his ring. The one that Frodo’d had to carry up a mountain and dispose of.

“The horses return to their master,” George’s voice was soft, something of a growl in it. “And we must make our way on foot.” He took Will’s hand, rubbing the back of it with his thumb. “Are you alright?”

“I should be,” Will turned to look at him. “Are you?”

“Perfectly well.”

Will’s apprehension rose a little more. “Well…That’s good then. I don’t suppose you can share some of your courage with me? I think I need a little bit of it.”

“I will share all of it with you,” George’s voice dropped into a tone that Will rarely heard outside of their bedroom. “We will get through this, all of us. I will get you home again and then we can continue on with our path and you and I will be happy.” His nails were sharp but his touch was gentle as he raised a hand to Will’s face. “I will do anything to keep you safe,” he hissed the words out. 

It hit Will then, what it meant that George was acting like this.

“ _Smaug,_ ” Will whispered back, looking at the dwarves for a moment. “If you get caught like this, it may result in your death. You want to protect me so much, protect yourself as well.”  
Something a little like pleasure flared in George’s eyes. 

“Pleased you think of me like that,” his next words came with a deep-chested rumble. It was almost a purr. “Do you need the burden lifted for the time?”

“No,” Will put a hand over the wrong hip, pretended that the bag with the Arkenstone was there instead of on the opposite one. “It does not weigh heavily on me for right now. You need to drink your tea tonight, and when we bed down I will rest with you.” He was bargaining, almost at a loss of what to do. George was slowly slipping away to be replaced by an older version of himself.

Another purr came from his lover, the hand on his cheek slipping into his hair. “Good.”

When Will looked away from George for a moment, towards the trees in front of them, he spotted Dori watching them. “Smaug,” he whispered, catching the hand on his face in his own. “I need to go speak with Dori for a moment.”

“Return to me,” George’s eyes weren’t gold anymore. It wasn’t just a trick of the light, they were actually yellow now. “When you have finished speaking with him, you must return to me. Dragons are unhappy with letting their treasure go,” he closed his eyes, pressing his forehead to Will’s. “And you are my treasure now.” He stepped back, letting go of Will entirely. Before he moved away, to continue on with the party, he sniffed the air and grinned. “And keep an eye on the halfling. He smells of power,” his lips curled into a smirk that was somehow both wary and amused. “Power he did not have before.”

George let the silence between them fall, walking away with a hand on the blade at his hip. His steps were slow enough that a startled Will could catch up to him.

“What do you mean by that?”

“You know of the ring and so do I,” George pressed a hand against his shoulder for a moment, reassuring himself with the touch. “Go now, speak with the dwarrow you need to speak with. I will be waiting until you are back at my side.” He waited for a moment, then sighed, nudging at his lover’s shoulder. “Go on, all will be well.”

Will took a deep breath, leaned in rabbit-quick to press a kiss against George’s temple, then jogged to walk with Dori.

 

“Ye seem ta be wary of him, lad,” Dori murmured when Will was next to him. “Is all well?”

Shaking his head, Will made a noise of confusion. “I…Don’t know. He’s acting like a much different version of himself, it is worrying me. But,” he glanced back for a moment, smiling. “I don’t think he’s going to be a problem? His tendency towards possessiveness and utter violence to keep what is his protected seems to be aimed towards me.”

“Would make sense,” Dori patted gently at Will’s hand, smiling. “Best keep him in line, however. Our king would not be so kind as to let him live if he knew of his true history.”

Will glanced around again, this time looking at Thorin where he was at the head of the group, Bilbo a few steps behind him. Their hands were nearly touching. Something had happened at Beorn’s home, something had changed between the two of them. George had mentioned something, quietly in the early morning, about their scents mixing together in a way that spoke of mates and being together.

It worried him.

There was an end to all things and the end of life for most. There was a battle ahead of them, one that would rip the pair apart. They would remain so until the time that George and Will had come from. The others had all had the chance to find each other before then, Will thought as he watched Ori trail quietly behind Dwalin, his eyes focused on his journal. The older dwarrow was keeping him from running into trees.

Nori was fussing with his backpack, seemed to be checking on an item inside of it. Once it was secured, he looked forward, towards Bofur.

Even Balin was walking with Oin.

Their lives were splayed out in front of Will. The ones they loved, their families, the reasons that they had all found each other again and again as the ages went on. 

“Lad?”

Will turned back to Dori. “Just thinking,” he said softly. 

“Aye,” Dori nodded, the crown of braids he wore once more held in place by the hairpins he had brought from his home. He and his brothers had held a braiding circle at Beorn’s home, fixing the hair of every dwarf who needed to re-braid and reshape everything to keep themselves neat on the journey. They valued family and gold and the halfling valued friends, family and food and life itself and Will knew exactly how this was all going to end. “But ye seem so sorrowful.”

“I am…” Will pursed his lips. “There is something coming and I suspect it will not end well for those involved.”

Dori glanced back at George. “Keep near ta him and I suspect you’ll do right. Ain’t much love can’t do or help with in some way. Mends broken hearts along with time, keeps those together who rightly ought to fall apart.” He jerked his chin at Gloin. “Keeps us together when we’re too distant from our family.” His small hands pushed gently at Will’s side, nudging him back towards George. “Go be with him, lad. Yer distracted otherwise.”

“Just…Be safe,” Will said it quietly, feeling like there was something he was forgetting.

Something important.

 

~

 

He was going to kill whatever damnable creature had brought forth the giant spiders of the Mirkwood, he really was.

They were venomous monsters nearly half his height and they were busy wrapping the dwarves in webbing. The only reason Will was safe was because his hand had been in George’s when the damned things had descended from the trees. Somewhere, off to one side, the halfling was slicing his way through several of them, a snarl twisting his normally happy face. 

George felt that same rage within his chest, his own blade out and currently severing a set of pinchers that had gotten far too close for comfort.

One of the spiders lunged at him from behind and he ducked under it, felt the unpleasantly hot body brush over him. Its legs were pounding against the ground, hissing filling the air as it turned slowly. They weren’t made for sharp turns, even in an environment they were used to, and George used it to his advantage. He dispatched it quickly, moving on before it even stopped shrieking its death-cry. Will was where he had been left, but he was crouched on the ground, patting the dirt and fallen leaves for something. 

A wave of panic surged in George’s chest. 

Will’s hearing aid. 

He ran as fast as he could, skidding to a halt in front of his lover. Dropping his sword, he joined in the frantic search, the instinctive growl in his head telling him to defend, to protect, to do whatever he needed to do to keep the man safe and alive and happy. 

Their searching fingers found it, hands brushing together so often that he wasn’t even sure who had picked it up first. The plastic of it was smooth under his fingertips as he helped Will guide it into place, reattaching it-

And then he was in the air, his weapon on the ground below him, and a roar inside of his head.

One of the spiders had grabbed him in his distraction.

George cursed loudly, spinning in its grasp and jamming his claw-like nails into what weak spots he could find from his position. He could see the dwarves in silk-wrapped piles in one of the trees, Bilbo fighting his way towards them. Below him was Will, the man’s hands around George’s weapon as he swung it down upon the reaching leg of a spider.

George hated forests.

Especially the Mirkwood.

 

When he woke, he was in a cage.

There was an elf smirking at him and if it weren’t for the bars, he would have lunged forth to rip the being’s pretty little throat out with his claws. “So, this is one of the men traveling with the dwarves who dared to invade my home,” the elf spoke as if he had all the time in the world. “I have already asked of the purpose of your invasion from the others and received nary a single response. None that were truthful.”

“You-“George growled the word out, felt a little satisfied at the small amount of nervousness he saw in the elf’s eyes when he did. “Where is the other like me?”

“The other man is in his own cell,” the elf scoffed, smoothing a hand down the front of his robes. The movement drew George’s attention to the silver in the cloth, the finely embroidered cuff of his sleeve, and the crown upon his head. “As if I would tell you where.”

“Thranduil,” George snarled the name out. “You never change.”

Thranduil reared back, shock in his eyes. “Do _not_ speak as if you know me.” He ordered, his eyes narrowing. “You know nothing of me if you are as innocent as your leader says you are. Someone passing through the Mirkwood has no more reason to be there than a fish has to be in a bird’s nest.”

George snorted out a laugh. “What of the fish being consumed by the bird?”

“That is different,” Thranduil frowned at him. “But perhaps you make sense. Perhaps you are here for a reason as innocent as your people getting lost upon the path. You found yourselves lost, wandering into the dens of the spiders that guard my home. Tell me,” he leaned closer to the bars, his nose almost touching George’s. “Are you the fish to be devoured?”

“Not by you, thank you very much,” George let his teeth show in the smile that was too feral to be polite or kind. “But if you do not bring my Wilhelm to me, I will show you that it is the other way around.”

“… _Your_ Wilhelm?” Thranduil’s lip quirked upward. “I was not aware that men were so barbaric as to own one another in that way. Is he indentured? Your slave, perhaps? Did you buy him off of someone, to have your way with him and break him down?” he stood up straight, his posture putting him taller than George once more. “I despise slavers.”

“He is mine in only the ways he wants to be,” George’s voice was softer. “And only so long as he wants to be.”

“You-“

“If I could put a ring on his finger, I would.” His hands were curled around the bars. “And I can feel myself being lost without him. For your safety and my own,” he looked up to meet Thranduil’s gaze. “Please, bring him to me. I do not know what has happened to him, he is strong and sure and brilliant but there is something hindering his fighting ability. I need to know if he is safe.”

Thranduil did not so much as move.

“ _Please_ ,” George almost begged. “Even if you are so cruel as to keep us apart, all I ask is that he be brought before me for mere minutes. I need to know if he is whole and well.”  
Instead of responding, the elven king walked away silently.

George snarled, throwing himself into the back corner of the cell. Of course he wouldn’t relent. Thranduil, as he had been known to the group in the past, was a stuck-up bastard, unlikely to melt. If it had been the right time period Thranduil, he would have laughed and let George out.

If it had been the right time period version, George wouldn’t have been in a cage at all.

He buried his face in his hands, hunching over his knees and trying not to scream. Screaming wouldn’t help, wouldn’t do anything but exhaust him, and he needed to conserve his strength for what may come.

He didn’t hear the quiet footsteps returning to his cell until the door was being unlocked. “The two of you are being held together,” Thranduil’s voice was wavering slightly as if he were holding himself together by sheer force of will. “If either one of you steps out of line, there will be consequences.”

The door swung shut, the sounds of it being locked followed, but George didn’t care.

A little bruised, his clothing torn, but mostly unharmed, Will sat in front of him. His eyes were bright and watery like he was about to start sobbing. As if on cue, they pushed themselves forward at once, wrapping around each other until there was no space between them. George’s hand came up and pressed against Will’s back, pressing him even closer. “My love,” he said softly, his entire body shaking with relief. “My lovely Wilhelm,” his hands slid up into his hair. George pulled back for a moment, meeting Will’s eyes for a moment before pressing a firm kiss against his forehead, his cheeks, his nose, every part of him that he could reach. 

When he settled again, his lips pressed to Will’s forehead once more, he spotted Thranduil still watching them. 

The elf’s eyes were pinned to where Will’s hands were fisted tightly around the fabric of George’s tunic. Will’s knuckles were white, bloodless from the intensity with which he was holding on. “You speak truthfully,” the elven king’s voice was soft, all the challenge from before gone from it. “He is yours and you are his.”

“And you had better not take him from me or me from him,” Will growled out, still tangled around George. “Or there will be hell to pay.”

Thranduil looked startled for a moment, his hands clasped together in front of him. “Noted,” he nodded once, then turned on his heel, starting to walk away. He stopped after a moment, turned back towards them. “Who is it that you travel with, the ones who are captive here as well?”

“Thorin, son of Thráin, son of Thrór, King under the Mountain. His company on his journey, as well.” George let out a sigh, tucking Will’s head under his chin. “The dwarven king seeks to reclaim his home from the great and terrible Smaug.”

“Why ask us?”

For a moment, the elven king didn’t answer. His shoulders pulled back minutely, his posture going slightly stiffer. “You spoke truthfully,” he said quietly. “When you said that he was yours in only the ways he wanted to be. You do not keep him captive, held to you against his will.”

“Then let us out,” Will turned, slightly, to look at him. “Us and our troop. We wish to be out of your lands and on to the ones we seek to reclaim. We have much to do before we get there, a dragon to face down, and all of that will take strength, courage, and much planning. There is an almost insurmountable number of things to be done before this occurs and we are working to a rapidly approaching end.”

“Your leader says you walked off the path for reasons of starvation and exhaustion,” Thranduil’s voice was still hard like he was trying to be stern with them, but they could both see his conviction wavering. 

“We did,” George nodded quickly. “We came from Beorn’s land, with the guidance of Gandalf the Grey. We seek only to restore the dwarven kingdom and all those who would inhabit it.”

“I…” Thranduil backed away from the bars, confusion evident in his gaze. “I must speak to others who reside in my halls. You will have an answer by this night. You have my word,” he turned, moving faster than they had even seen. Even their version of him, always moving from meeting to meeting, was unhurried in his steps. “I will have provisions brought to you.”

Will and George were left, alone, in the silence.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> You may have noticed by now that I am using a mixture of book and movie canons. 
> 
> That is because I like some ideas from the movies but I usually prefer what happened in the books. There's not going to be some shoehorned in romance plot between Kili and Tauriel. I honestly hated that plotline because it came out of nowhere and made no goddamned sense.
> 
> George-Smaug is uninterested in the Arkenstone, he has a human-shaped treasure to look after. Thranduil, in this story, is still missing his wife. Swayed easily by couples in love, the elven king of Mirkwood is.
> 
> Also: Gandalf, you aren't as sneaky as you want to be. We all noticed you bewitching the hearing aid so that it runs off of magic instead of batteries. 
> 
> Anyway. This chapter is an update to continue apologizing for being gone for so long. I hope y'all enjoyed it.


	8. Entering Laketown

Thranduil’s return was marked, once again, by soft footsteps in the hall.

His robes billowed around his feet, his hands clasped in front of him as he stopped in front of the cell that held the two men. Both looked up when sighed, looking carefully over his shoulder. “There is a way out of here,” he said softly, his voice no more than a whisper. “You will take this key and you will leave quietly. My guards have no need to know you are gone and those who guard the way out are sure to be intoxicated. Take this key,” he offered it this time. “And follow this hall.”

Will reached out a hand to take it, feeling the heft of it in his hand. “Why?”

“Because my pride has been my downfall before,” Thranduil’s face was tight, some nameless emotion flashing in his eyes. “I did not help those I should have extended my hand to. There was disaster and I saw a people come to near ruin as a result of my selfish behavior.”

“Smaug’s arrival,” George frowned.

“And those very same people, the king of the ruined people, whose lives I did nothing to help,” Thranduil nodded. “Are here, now. They need to be somewhere within the space of time that they would be held here on suspicion of trespassing. I cannot change the rules I myself have set, I cannot let you go in the knowledge of my people.”

“But you can get us out in the middle of the night without them knowing.” George laughed this time, his eyes almost gleaming in the darkness of the cell. “You can show us the way out and let us leave.”

“If I see you after this, I will have to act as if nothing was done with my knowledge,” Thranduil warned. “Find the room with the empty wine barrels. It will not be pleasant, but it will be an escape. You must leave quickly, those who patrol the halls are still sober.”

Will swallowed his nerves and stood up, helping George up as well. “Understood,” he managed to say without much of a tremor in his voice. “You have our many thanks for this, there is some nasty business ahead of us. There are things we must do and they are not the most glorious of tasks.”

“They often are not,” Thranduil’s smile was just to one side of sad, his eyes filled with understanding and a quiet sort of compassion. “There are always those who hold history in their hands who might be forgotten. Those who change the course of it for good. They deserve honors and rewards and receive neither.” He stepped back and watched Will open the cell door. “You have my well-wishes and a wish for good luck. May history never forget you.” His eyes stopped on George for a moment. “You have the capability of such good within you,” he said in an even more hushed tone. “I wonder if you will follow the line of it and achieve such a thing.”

“I have him to keep me to it,” George’s face flushed as he ran two of his knuckles over Will’s shoulder. 

Thranduil gestured to one side, down the hall. “And now you have a path to follow.”

“Yes,” Will took George’s hand, following the curve of the hallway with his eyes. “Thank you. If we are to meet again, you will have many more of my thanks and appreciation. We must be on our way.”  
The elven king turned on his heel and practically marched away, his hands clasped behind his back now.

“I do believe that is our cue,” George said, taking the lead and walking as fast as he could while still staying silent. “Still have the key? Seems like it is going to be important. If it opens all the cells, we have much use for it.”

“There you two are,” came an almost impatient sound from somewhere around Will’s knees. Both men looked down and saw Bilbo standing there, his eyes focused intently on them and his poor waistcoat in great disrepair. It needed stitching, the buttons having come off ages ago in the many misadventures he had been having. His trousers were torn as well, the hems going ragged. “I have been worried sick, unable to find the two of you, and here you are, walking about as if you have no need of rescuing!”

“…The two of us specifically?”

“Yes,” Bilbo nodded gravely, putting his hands on his hips. “I can find most of the others. Thorin is a little more difficult, but I am well on my way to it. I am certain of it. At least,” he sighed, suddenly looking quite unsure of himself. “I feel as if I am close.”

Will leaned down and offered him the key. “I’m going to tell you later how it is I know, but this is much safer with the one who can turn invisible at will. This is the key to every cell in this castle and we must take our leave as soon as possible. Get the others out and to the room where they send the empty barrels down the river to Laketown. We will find Thorin.”

“Divide the labor and the plan,” Bilbo nodded, his small hands wrapping around the key and holding it to his chest. “And we will have a serious talk later,” he said sternly.

“Yes, yes,” George nudged him, looking nervously over his shoulder. “Now go! We will find Thorin. You have our word.”

 

~

 

George found him first.

The king under the mountain was laying down on the floor at the back of his cell, his arm thrown dramatically over his eyes, and for a moment he appeared to be dead. 

At the sound of footsteps, however, he frowned, rolling onto his side so that his back faced the door, then snarled something in Kuzhdul. When nothing followed, the stubborn dwarf said something else. No response to that either had him practically launching himself upright, prepared to yell in whatever language it took to get the intruder to leave him be.

His tirade was cut short by the sight of George leaning against the wall, arms crossed over his chest. 

“You-“

George mockingly saluted him, two fingers to his brow. “Me.”

“Are the others-“

“They should be free any moment now,” he answered before Thorin could get the words out. “All twelve dwarves. Safe and sound. I am merely waiting for the key. Will has gone off to report back to the others, tell them of your location. Of course,” he pushed off the wall, curling his hands around the bars. “I have almost no doubt that I could rip the door of your cage off the hinges holding it. The sound would echo, however, alerting everyone nearby to my presence here. We would both be returned to our imprisonment and then our moderately successful thus far escape plan would be put back to nothing.”

“…Best we wait for the key,” Thorin muttered.

“That is what I thought,” George smirked. “Any questions while we wait?”

“You said twelve dwarves,” Thorin looked panicked for a moment. “What of the Hobbit? He braved the spiders in the woods to try and keep our company safe. I saw him fight,” he took a deep breath, stumbling forward onto his feet and reaching the bars on unsteady legs. “Has he fallen?”

There it was.

The desperation on the dwarf’s face, the fear in his eyes at the prospect of Bilbo having died. George watched him squirm for a moment, then tapped his nails on the bars. “He still lives,” he said quietly. “He is the one with the key at this current moment.”

“How was he when you released him?”

“Released him?” George let out a chuckle. “Oh no, dear King, we did not release him. We did nothing of the sort. He was the one who met us once we were freed. He has been sneaking about in that quiet manner of his, finding out the secrets of this place. He is the one who found the rest of the company, clever mind and clever fingers working to keep them in contact with each other.”

He could see now, how the love story between them had been born.

It had begun at Beorn’s house, in the wake of Bilbo rescuing Thorin from the threat of death. It had grown, only ever grown, from that moment. The rescue of the king, the knowledge of Bilbo’s clever hands and mind, those things had spurred it on.

Right now, he was staring at a version of Thorin only just beginning to be so in love that it nearly broke his own heart. He knew what would happen.

There was something rising in his chest, screaming for attention. That dark, protective something. It wanted to keep every dwarf safe and happy, for the sake of the hobbit if nothing else. Every day they spent in this past, this time away from their own, it grew stronger. George was barely a shadow now, Smaug’s voice worming through a shell of a person and presenting himself as the one in charge. 

He did not want to know what would happen if they stayed for too much longer.

“Is your Wilhelm safe?”

George refocused, feeling his eyes snap over to Thorin with an alarming speed. For a moment, the dwarven king startled back from the bars of his cage, narrowing his own eyes at the man before him. “He is,” he took a deep breath, grounding himself in reality again. He could converse, could pretend to be functional. Could pretend that he did not want anything but to stalk through the halls until he was wrapped around Will again. Skin to skin, breath intermingling and claws scraping possessively into his shoulders. “He is very well.”

“Perhaps I meant from you,” Thorin muttered. “I do not know much of you, but you seem as if you are somewhat of a threat.”

The monster in his chest reared up, ready to strike back. “What do you mean by that?”

“There are times when I look at you and see something of what drove my people and my kin from our home.” Thorin’s eyes were pinned on his face, studying him intently. His hands curled tighter around the bars. “As if you were a part of it, in some way. Somehow.”

“There is something of a curse on me,” George felt the words slipping out of his throat before he could stop them. “A reason for me being on this journey. The great beast, the dragon Smaug,” he smirked, shaking his head. “The creature has a hold on me in a way I cannot explain. Things have led to this, to me being at this point. I assure you, I am no danger to Wilhelm. If I have my way,” he stepped closer to the bars, kneeling down to meet Thorin’s eyes, a hand pressed in a small salute against his chest. “I will be no danger to you and yours, either.”

Thorin studied him some more, silent and unsure for a moment. “Is this curse to be lifted in any way that might be done with ease?”

“Not ease so much as luck,” George chuckled. “The death of the beast will free me, or so I have come to think. So you see my reason for coming along on this journey of mayhem and death; I wish to be free of what has become of my mind.”

The words out, he knew they were the truth. If he wanted to return to himself, the timeline had to flow as it had before. His past-self had to die for his mind to return to being his own. He was always himself, always Smaug and always George and always those in between, but in this place they were not supposed to be…

He was even more of the monster he had been.

At least he had the same method of being stopped if the worst should happen. Wilhelm would be sad, would be angry beyond belief, but if it were necessary, he would put an arrow through George’s chest and hold him until he passed.

“Thorin!”

Bilbo’s voice was nearly too loud in the quiet of the hall and George looked up to see Will watching him. There was a fondness in his eyes and his hands reached stutteringly forward, grasping George’s arm as he stood before he pressed his forehead to his lover’s shoulder.

“Are you alright?” he whispered.

A quick glance was aimed at Thorin reaching through the bars to cup Bilbo’s cheek. “I have been better,” George whispered back. “But I will be alright.”

 

~

 

Water escapes were Will’s least favorite thing.

The barrels were terrifying, bounced around in the waves and tossed about as if he weighed nothing more than a speck of sand. The land had been a relief and he hugged the ground tightly, trying not to be violently sick. By some miracle, his remaining hearing aid had been spared a dismal fate in the water. 

He suspected Gandalf.

Kili was off to one side, wincing as his hands wrapped around his leg. Somehow, it had gotten injured. A gash from the barrel, perhaps, Will didn’t know. A hand on his elbow, gently and just a barely-there pressure, alerted him to the location of George. He turned into the man’s hold, taking in deep, slow breaths. 

“Too many near misses,” George rumbled, his own chest heaving. He must have run across the rocky ground, Will thought, pressing his own hands to the man’s chest, smoothing the cloth and feeling his heart pounding. “Far, far too many near misses. No more barrel riding, for all that our hobbit seems to be riding the adrenaline thrill of it.” He leaned back, making sure that Will could see his mouth and speaking slowly. “Do you still have-“ he glanced at Thorin.

“I do,” Will patted his hip, under the cloth of his tunic. “When they searched us, I had hidden it under my layers. A bit undignified but it was enough to keep it secreted away.”

He glanced over his shoulder, watching the others crawl across the ground. Fili was the first to his brother’s side, fussing over his leg. Thorin said something to them, quiet and unsteady as Bilbo helped him to his feet. Ori was still at the edge of the river, dumping what seemed to be gallons of river water out of his boots, Dwalin close behind and watching over the younger dwarrow.

“You did find our things, yes?” George’s voice was quiet, a whisper in his ear as he turned back. It sounded odd with only one of his hearing aids, but the man knew how to change the pitch and tone so as to be heard.

Will nodded, nudging their noses together for a brief second. “In one of the barrels.”

“Good,” George kissed his forehead, standing slowly. “I will be back in a moment. I must retrieve some things from our supplies. Stay here, I will return.”

Things happened, as they always seemed to, in a quick succession that made Will nearly dizzy trying to process it. He had been watching as George stepped carefully back down to where the barrels were and then there was a muffled cry. His hearing imperfect, he had turned to try and make it clearer and had seen a man pulling back another arrow, one already sticking out of the small log Dwalin held in his hands. The dwarf was putting himself between the new arrival and Ori, defensive angry almost like a storm across his face.

Beside him, Kili pulled back his arm, ready to throw a stone, and the second arrow was let loose.

It knocked the stone out of his hand, leaving him to clutch it to his chest and look at the stranger with wide, frightened eyes. “If you try that again,” the man warned, his lips moving enough that Will could read them. “You will be dead.”

Oin and Balin, clustered together off to one side, looked back at him in surprise. Balin was the first to find his tongue, his eyes darting to the barge floating in the water on the other side of the outcrop of land they stood upon. “Excuse me, but, uh, you are from Laketown, if I am not mistaken? That barge over there, it would not be available for hire, by any chance?”

The man raised an eyebrow and Will felt an icy chill in his gut.

He knew where they were, suddenly. He knew what was to happen, when things were going to change, how much sadness was going to be within their small party in a few weeks. Most of all, Will knew who the man, the stranger in front of him was. 

He could have kicked himself for not realizing it earlier.

This man was him. Bard. His old life. This was what he had looked like from the outside. A widower with three children, two girls, and a boy. In the life he currently lived, he hadn’t had the chance yet to have children. Maybe one day, if George was willing, but who knew what something that far in the future would be like. Balin said something to Bard, worry and confusion warring across his face. 

Will could remember how it had been to see this moment, suddenly. 

Strangely, the memory he had was of staring at the exact same scene that was in front of him now. Thirteen dwarves, a hobbit, and two men. Nothing about it was different than what was in his head and that was what made him relax.

Bard shifted, his posture defensive, and George chose that moment to step back into the main area in front of him. The man’s hand dropped back to his bow and Will felt his entire body tense. Before Bard could pull out an arrow and send it flying, George held up his hands in a gesture of submission that Will knew must have been killing his instincts. George looked at the other two men, a water skin held in his hand and Will’s pack on one shoulder, his own on the other. With the extra time given to their escape by the festivities Thranduil had been holding and the elven king’s own maneuvers, there had been plenty of time to sneak about and retrieve their belongings.

“Please,” George’s mouth moved slowly, his eyes a soft golden color. Somehow, he had returned to himself. Smaug had retreated for the moment, allowing the man to shine through again. If pressed to find an answer, Will would guess that it had been the days spent in Mirkwood away from the Arkenstone. “He needs the water to drink, he is injured and exhausted. As are others of our number.”

Bard looked at him and for a moment, their eyes met.

Will had to wonder if the man felt the same eerie feeling like someone had just dumped ice water down his spine. “What is wrong with him?” he saw Bard ask, a frown on his lips and for a moment it was like looking into a mirror. He wondered if Bard saw the resemblance too; if he was trying to figure it out, trying to puzzle out why this stranger shared his face.

Crossing to him, George kneeled down and handed him the water skin, steadying it in his hands before he turned to answer Bard. “His hearing has been stolen from him. There is another of our number with the same, his hearing trumpet lost in the course of our journey here.”

“I would wager that there is a way to enter town unseen,” Balin was on the side he could hear with, and Will was thankful for the distraction.

“Aye,” Bard looked at him, studying his face for a moment. “But you will need a smuggler for that.”

“Just as well that we have the coin to pay for such a service,” Thorin spoke up, at last, sitting stubbornly near his nephews and refusing to leave Bilbo’s side. “For if we have need of it, we must pay for it.”

Bard turned solemn eyes on him, then nodded. “Just as well.”

 

~

 

The party of travelers was loaded quickly onto Bard’s barge and George couldn’t help the shudder of fear that ran down his spine.

This was the man who had killed him.

He was not Will, not the man who shared his bed and house and life. His lover was not the one who had pierced an impossibly thick hide with an arrow so heavy and deadly it could make the Vala themselves tremble in fear. The world around them was confusing, the very environment they were in feeling like a dissociative episode, but he could hold onto those truths. Will was Will and Bard was Bard.

They were different, even as they looked and moved the same.

The dwarves were muttering angrily, with Bilbo being a somewhat angry voice of reason. Despite an unhappy comment from Thorin, he mostly stayed silent, his gaze locked on the hobbit’s every move. The overprotectiveness in his eyes was heart-wrenching, feeling all too familiar to George. It was the same protective streak that he could feel in his own chest when Will was in danger.

Thorin had been gold-sick for a long, long time.

Even before the journey had started.

Given a target, he had become obsessed with reclaiming his home. The appearance of a somewhat golden-haired hobbit had changed his views but George knew how this story ended. He knew how soon it would be until death separated them, parting the loved and the lover.

He knew how soon it would be until the version of himself that was from this point would die.

And now, because of a pre-destined path, a twist of fate, he had met his murderer. It was the sort of death that would be called ‘Good’ in history books, for how many lives it saved. Even he would call it the good sort of death. A being too long alive and insane until his last breath.

Will clung to his arm, his cheek against George’s shoulder.

He seemed to be doing better, now that they were out from within the barrels. Enclosed spaces had never really sat well with him. Claustrophobia tore at his mind sometimes. George kissed the top of his head, hoping to be secretive about it in front of the others.

Luck was not on his side, it seemed. 

Gloin and Dwalin noticed the movement, Gloin scooting around on the barge until he was facing the two sitting men, glancing up at the third for a moment. “Ye look as if ye could be twins!” Gloin exclaimed, looking between Will and Bard. “Are ye sure this is not yer homeland, lad?”

“I am certain.” Will said softly, his eyes slipping closed. 

Raking gentle fingers through his hair and parting river-water soaked strands, George looked at the two. “He needs his rest.”

“He seems awfully tired for what we’ve all gone through,” Dwalin grumped, crossing his arms over his chest. His knuckle dusters shimmered in the dim foggy light, drawing attention to his fists. “We’re all tired. He’s-“

“Not doing well,” George hissed at him, looking up at Bard. “The sooner we can rest, the better he will be. There is some that can be explained later, but for now…He needs his rest. The lot of you ought to rest as well. No telling what we will face in the town. I will watch over.”

The fog around them started clearing and the mountain came into view, causing a hush to fall over the dwarves.

“By my beard,” Gloin whispered. “That is…”

“The Lonely Mountain,” Thorin finished for him, looking to George for a moment, a flash of something in his eyes. “Our stolen home.”

Bard looked ahead, letting out a quiet curse. “Into the barrels, quickly. I had hoped, perhaps…No. You must hide, all of you. Into the barrels, let out not so much as a whimper.” He held out a hand, motioning for silence. “Quick as you can.”

George studied him for a moment, then nudged Will upright and helped him sit in a barrel. “Smuggling us in?”

“It is the easiest way of doing things,” Bard muttered. “Hurry or it will be for naught.”

With a nod and a nervous swallow, George cast a glance at Will and wished for a quiet moment with him. He was certain that the Arkenstone was finally taking a toll on his lover, pushing him into feeling sicker than ever before. Running into his past self was bound to be making it worse as well. “Right you lot,” he hissed out, “Into the barrels. Just as he says.” He raised a silencing hand to Dwalin. The dwarrow looked the most likely to argue. “I know, we just escaped them, but we need stealth, not stubbornness.”

“You-“

“Dwalin,” Balin looked at his brother from over the edge of his own barrel. “Jus’ get in’na barrel.”

Bard diverted their path, watching closely as George clambered into his own barrel, having helped the dwarves into them. “One more step before we sail into the town,” he whispered to George. “Quiet now, keep yourselves so. I advise you to take a deep breath.”

Fishermen.

George nearly laughed out loud, remembering having been told of this. His version of Thorin had been reluctant to speak of it but he had been goaded by Bilbo into talking.  
He did, however, still gag a little when he was covered with dead fish.

 

They smelled of fish and they were all likely sore and exhausted but George still felt his heart ache when a young boy ran up to them and looked panicked.

In that moment, he felt ready to run into the danger headfirst. Will’s jolt of shock at the boy’s appearance did not help. If it upset his lover, he needed to make the upsetting parts go away. If that meant fixing them himself, then so be it.

“Bain,” Bard studied his son’s face, a steadying hand on his shoulder.

That was all it took for the boy to spill his worries out, his young face pinched in fear. Something about being watched, the Master of Laketown’s deputy having sent spies to watch over the family. The boy looked at them, his eyes wide as he took in their slimy appearance and general look of unease and some anger. “Father,” Bain concluded, his small hands twisting in the edge of his shirt. “What do we do?”

Bard looked up, worrying at his bottom lip as he considered.

 

~

 

They were inside.

Will knew that, even though he could barely focus enough to pull his thoughts together. They were inside a house, slightly warmer than outside had been. He was too cold, chilled through to his core, and he wanted to throw himself into the fire.

Had it not been for the hands on him, he would have done so without a second thought.

“Sssh,” whispered a voice, a cool cloth pressing against his forehead. George. It was George, he could hear the tone of his whisper even with only one hearing aid and a fever. “If I may,” he addressed the room at large. “I wish to speak with him alone for a moment.”

Will could hear someone protesting but he didn’t know who.

Footsteps echoed as they all left the room and George arranged a blanket over him, letting his forehead drop onto Will’s stomach. “Please do not die,” he whispered. “Not when we are so close to getting this- This thrice damned thing to its home!” 

“Hmm…” Will reached for his hands, feeling his own tremble clumsily. “Not…”

“Try telling me that when you are not currently running a fever to burn down the world,” George sat up, shaking his head. “As for the reason I asked them to leave us for a moment…” he reached for Will’s hip, resting his hand over the bulge that lay there. “Will.”

“No,” Will squirmed away from him, feeling panic set in. “Hurts you.”

George’s eyes flashed gold for a moment and he could feel the fear settling into his ribcage. “It is _killing you,_ ” his voice caught, scared and panicked, a barely-there whisper. “It can hurt me all it likes if it does not kill you. I would beg on my hands and knees if I thought it would make any difference to that goddamned chunk of rock.”

He tugged at the small bag, pulling it from Will’s hip and tucked it around himself. 

“George-“

“No,” George shook his head, clutching Will’s hands in his own, knuckles white. “Do not make me watch you die. We are so close to managing this, so close to being able to return home.”

“Fine,” Will’s voice was quiet, his eyes slipping shut. “You have to wear ridiculous things…”

“I will wear whatever you deem appropriate for a month if it means you live through this,” George leaned up, pressing their foreheads together. “I am supposed to be the one losing it. I am the one with the history of terror and violence, the one whose past-self lives in the very mountain we march towards. You are the one who acted as a hero, the one who needs to…You need to live.”

“Am I to assume there is a secret being held?”

Will felt George’s breath stop for a moment, his hands squeezing tightly. “I-“ he turned to look at Will, then back to the intruder. “Bard. There are many secrets we hold. Least of all is our true reason for being here at this moment.”

Bard stepped closer, his arms crossed over his chest. “I act as the Bowman of Laketown,” he stated solemnly. “It is within my duties to help assure the peace of our town. When a bargeman is ill, his body weak, I happened to replace him in his duty to bring the discarded barrels into town. The Master of this town is an odd man,” he stared at George. “But I suspect you are far stranger still.”

He paused again, leaning against the wall. “I have heard a great deal many things in this world,” he tilted his head. “Perhaps you can explain this past-self.”

George winced, curling in on himself. 

“Would you tell them?” Will managed to get the words out, his voice barely slurring as he shifted to look at the man. “The others, I mean.”

“Not if there is a reason to keep the secret,” Bard looked at both of them, his dark eyes intent on studying their faces. “Does it have to do with your face and mine being so similar that they think of us as twins? I have heard no stories of my family having been separated. I have no brothers nor sisters,” he let himself smile and Will remembered looking at the man laying ill on the bed before him.

He wondered how much of the timeline they had changed.

Or if they had changed it at all.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> I am ruthlessly combining the book and movie canon. 
> 
> I would apologize for it, but I honestly like the results a lot better than if I had just used one or the other. Also, no orc poison, Legolas was not in the Mirkwood, Tauriel is not in love with Kili for no goddamned reason. 
> 
> I hope you all liked this chapter.
> 
> (Want to talk about it? I'm Krasimer on Tumblr and I like getting messages there, too!)


	9. The Song Is Almost Over

At least Bard was a man of his word.

Will remembered being nearly-unconscious, too cold to think, and feeling like he was dying. He remembered telling Bard about their journey, about who they were. The man had listened intently, calling in Dori when they told him that the dwarf knew of their story.

Now he was awake, feeling more clear-headed than he had in weeks. The stone had been poisoning him, slowing his mind down and making him sluggish in a barely noticeable way. It hadn’t been until near-hypothermia and panic that it had even shown. Bard had spoken to the Master of Laketown, asking for help in getting the dwarves to the mountain.

They had only been promised help as far as the valley below it.

Camping supplies, food, everything they might need, it had all been supplied. The Master of Laketown had seen to it, talking over his deputy in a jovial tone. The deputy had looked at them with poison in his eyes, his hands clenched into fists at his sides.

This was it.

They were going to go after Smaug.

They were going to possibly fight a past version of the man he loved. Scales and wings and claws included, Will remembered being Bard and shooting him down. Killing him.

What if George saw it happen and held a grudge?

They had already lived it and Will was reasonably certain that his boyfriend wouldn’t leave him for having to watch it happen again, but there was still that worry in his head. An insidious little voice in his mind that seemed to want him squirming. He turned to watch the dwarves and the hobbit, playing with the hem of his shirt.

They certainly had been through so much.

Forests and rivers and goblins and trolls and elves. He was down a hearing aid and he was afraid for George, but it was nearing the end of the journey. Will knew what was coming, knew the sequence of events on a rough sort of timeline from here on out. He focused on Bilbo in particular, watched him pacing back and forth. He was to lose Thorin, soon.

Kili and Fili, too.

Hopefully, he and George would be back home, able to see the three of them alive once more, safe and sound. Hopefully, he would see a happier ending. In the meantime, it seemed he was to watch them die as they had before Will and George were dragged through time and dropped into history to act as witnesses and valets to a stone with a mind of its own.

If he didn’t hold onto that, he would start falling into insanity. Would start thinking of the possibility of never getting back home again.

Bilbo’s quiet cry startled him out of his own head, dragging him back into the present.

The hobbit grabbed for something from the ground, shuffling around carefully in the moonlight so he would not fall off the edge of the cliff. When he retrieved it from Thorin, who had stopped its descent into the valley, they both smiled at each other. Will watched as the dwarven king’s hand trailed over the hobbit’s hand and he wanted to scream his frustration out into the night.

He knew what was to happen soon.

Bilbo unlocked the door into the mountain and stepped inside, glancing back at the dwarves once before disappearing into the darkness of the hallway before him. Something about scouting the way ahead, finding where Smaug had nested himself.

Will swallowed his nerves and reached out to take George’s hand. “Go with him,” he said softly, unheard by the others. “The hallway will be cramped and narrow, but he needs someone with him.”

“Ah,” George nodded. “I remember this as well. Should I take it with me?”

His fingers lingered on the bag and he stayed unsmiling while he studied Will’s face. “It is still making you so sick, love. We should take it into its home and be done with it.”

Nodding, Will leaned up to press their foreheads together. “I suspect we will need to do so together.”

George’s nose crinkled as he growled quietly. “It should be thankful we have even done this much for it, dragging us from our home and our time and our family. It has made you so sick. I have feared you were dying for most of this trip, it has sapped so much of the healthy glow from your face. I know it has altered my mind as well, pushing me further and further from myself.”

He paused, then looked at the still-open tunnel.

The dwarves had backed away from it, only Thorin staying close to the entrance. “Come,” George pulled Will back onto his feet. “We must go quietly. If we are supposed to do this together, future events will keep it from being put in its home if we delay for much longer.”

Will followed him, leaving most of their supplies on the ground outside the tunnel.

Either no one noticed or no one was willing to stop them as they slipped through the door together, ducking down to avoid their heads hitting the ceiling. When Will reached up, it took his entire arm outstretched with his fingers as well to meet the ceiling. “We do not need to stoop over,” he nudged George upright.

“Good,” George took his hand, holding it tightly. His fingernails still felt like claws, his eyes still glowing gold, but he seemed to be holding onto himself.

They walked in silence after that, close to each other and hardly daring to breathe.

When they came upon the room in what seemed to be the center of the place, Will’s eyes went wide as he stared around them. Every inch of it, floor to midway up the walls in piles taller than him, was covered in pieces of gold, mountains of gems. It made for a glittering eyesore, in his opinion. To him, it seemed gaudy, needless and boring. The dragon perched in the middle shifted in his sleep and Will watched Smaug’s back twist.

Across the room, a pile of gold shifted and fell over.

Smaug’s visible eye snapped open.

 

XxXxX

 

George was going to murder a hobbit.

Probably not the best idea, given how much he actually liked Bilbo as he knew him, but the Bilbo of the current time seemed to have chosen the worst moment to be clumsy.

With barely a sigh of breath or a sound of movement, he dragged Will behind a pillar, in one of the few spots where there was no treasure on the ground to reveal their location. His lover clung to him, his entire body trembling as he watched what was happening by peeking around the corner.

“Well, thief,” Smaug’s voice was laced with a subsonic rumble, George could feel his voice in his chest. “I smell you. I hear your breath. I feel your air.” A quiet chuckle made George’s hair stand on end. “Where are you?”

A great clanging and clattering marked the sound of Smaug knocking over a pile of gold, trying to find Bilbo. Hopefully the hobbit’d had the wit to go invisible with his evil ring. “Come now, step into the light, don’t be shy,” the air itself vibrated with Smaug’s words and George remembered saying them. “Oh, I hear your friends. Your _precious_ item cannot help them, can it?”

George dragged Will even closer, around the pillar.

This was not going to end well, was it?

Before Smaug could approach them, George heard Bilbo’s panting and groaning. He had asked his version of the hobbit, the man he knew, about what had transpired to cause that. Bilbo had told him that he had yanked off his ring because it had caused him pain in that moment. He had seen the eye of Sauron and it had seemed to be burning his mind.

“There you are, little thief in the shadows.” Smaug’s voice was crooning from the other end of the room now. “You seem to have brought another of my kind into my home.”

George could feel Will go entirely still against him.

He could not blame him. After all, the very being menacing them had been George himself at one point in time. The past had been left behind him but he still remembered being Smaug, could barely remember being anything before him.

“I did not come to steal from y-” Bilbo’s words caught for a moment, stuttering, and George silently cheered him on. “I did not come to steal from you, O Smaug the Unassessably Wealthy! Neither I nor my accompanying travelers have come to steal from you. We have, instead, come to gaze upon your magnificence, too see if you were really as great as the old tales say. My friends told me, but I did not believe them.”

The entire room shook as Smaug curled closer to where George and Will hid from him. “And do you _now?_ ”

“I do!” Bilbo’s voice was nearly lost in the cascade of gold. “Truly, the tales and songs fall short of your enormity and magnificence, O Smaug the Stupendous!”

“Do you think flattery will keep you alive?” Smaug’s voice was even closer this time. “Do you think it will keep the three of you safe?”

“No, no I do not!”

“No, indeed,” Smaug’s claws were about five feet from where they hid, the bulk of him turning smoothly. George remembered this moment, not as it had happened before but as it was happening now. As if the events had happened, both sets of them, in his memories. The ones where he and Will were with the party and the ones where they were not. “You seem familiar with my name, but I do not remember smelling your kind before. Who are you and where do you come from, may I ask? And do remember, little creature, you would do well not to lie to me.”

“I,” George could practically see Bilbo drawing himself up to his full height. “I come from under the hill.”

“Underhill?”

“And under hills and over hills my path has led. And, and, through the air. I am he who walks unseen.” Bilbo’s voice was tinted with the bravado George was sure he did not actually feel. Smaug was at least fifty times his size.

“ _Impressive,_ ” Smaug hissed out the word. “What else do you claim to be?”

“I am…Luck-wearer. Riddle-maker.”

“Lovely titles; go on.”

“Barrel-rider.” Bilbo’s voice shook, a small trembling, and George cursed inside his head. He wanted to run over and grab the hobbit, make a dash for one of the smaller corridors to keep Smaug from getting to them.

“Barrels?” If Smaug had eyebrows, he would have been lifting one of them. “Now that _is_ interesting. And what of your little friends? Where are they hiding? I can smell them, but I cannot find them. Perhaps something that is similar to your little trick?”

“My friends- My friends. No, they had the sense to stay in the entrance tunnels, sent me in here alone. You’ve got it all wrong.”

“Oh, I don’t think so, barrel-rider. They sent you in here to do their dirty work while they hide around the corner, intending, perhaps, to murder me as I slept.” Smaug’s claws slipped closer to them and George leaned the other way around the pillar, pulling Will with him. The Arkenstone burned his hip through the bag, impatient and angry.

“Truly, you are mistaken, O Smaug, Chiefest and Greatest of Calamities!”

“You have nice manners for a _liar_ and a _thief!”_ Smaug’s voice rose to a roar for a moment. “I know the smell of man, the stench of my own kind. You have brought another of mine into my home, an attempt to oust me and ruin me! Man is known to be drawn to gold and treasure, the same as dwarves. You have brought one to murder me and one to claim my gold as his!”

George’s breath caught in his throat and he heard Smaug scrape across the floor, wings extending.

He made a choice.

He dragged Will’s face upward, kissing him fiercely for a moment before he dragged the bag holding the Arkenstone off of his hip and slung it over Will’s shoulder. With that done, he stepped away and into view, kicking some piles of treasure for an extra bit of help getting Smaug to notice him. “I am right here,” he called out, making his voice as deep as he could.

Smaug’s head whipped around, golden eyes focused entirely on him. His pupils were slits, surrounded by pools of molten gold iris.

“You,” Smaug snorted. “You are the one that smells of my kind?”

“Yes,” George held his chin up high, meeting Smaug’s gaze. “There are some things I must discuss with you, O Smaug the Desolation of Humans, the Creator of Winds, the Eater of Lives.”

“Flatterer,” Smaug hunched down to look at him, blinking once before his mouth opened again. His breath was hot and smelled of rotting meat. Distantly, George thought it was enough to make him become a vegetarian. “And what does this obvious attempt to keep your life have to do with you smelling of my kind, human?”

“I am…Not precisely human,” George shook his head, closing his eyes for a moment. He could hear Bilbo clambering away, hopefully into one of the hallways. “I am you. From a future you will not live to see. I remember this day, this moment, staring into my own eyes as I am now, as you do. You, O Smaug,” he paused, watched the dragon settle a little further in. “Will die within the season.”

A little lie. It would not hurt him.

They had warned Bard, told him of the coming days. Smaug would fly in, attack Laketown. Bard was the archer, knew how to wield a bow big enough and strong enough to take Smaug down.

George felt a shiver roll down his spine.

He was going to help cause his own death.

“And for what reason do you expect me to believe you?” Smaug’s voice dropped lower, his head leaning down to be closer to George. “Have you come to warn me of my death?”

“I have come to speak with you about it.”

“Why?”

“Because I remember how this goes. I spoke with the human before me, the one who warned me of my oncoming demise. I remember speaking of the King Under the Mountain, of taking his throne and eating his people. Like a wolf among sheep. My armor was iron, I was certain that none could touch me.” He scoffed, looking down for a second before looking back up to meet Smaug’s eyes. The wings he could feel, the ones that seemed attached to his very soul, strained against him.

“No blade can pierce me!” Smaug almost screamed the words out, echoing in the mountain.

George watched him shuffle, the leathery wings straining and stretching behind him. They seemed to move in time with the sensation at his own back. “It will be no blade that pierces your armor,” he said quietly. “It will be something else.”

“Oh? And how do you feel for your murderer?” Smaug’s voice was back to mocking. “Surely you know who it is. Why do you not take this time to find and destroy them?”

“Because I do not want to,” George shook his head. “Because I remember now.”

“Remember what?”

George smiled, tilting his head down. “Gold sickness is a terrible thing,” he started slowly. “It poisons your mind, makes you think of friends as foe. Those you love, are loved by in return, they are the first to suffer when your mind falls. They leave you, or they are forced from your side by you. Your heart hardens first. When you continue to search for gold and treasure, you start to ignore the needs of your own body. It hardens as well, armored and safe from damages you would do to it.” He chuckled for a moment. “You are left alone, hardened against the world. There are stirrings inside of you, angry and wild and full of a fire that is untamable.”

“And what then?”

“And then you are left with the lifeless treasures you have acquired, one way or another. Through means of deceit and murderous intent and actions,” George’s fists clenched at his sides. “Then you become the monster you are inside, cold and cruel and unwilling to see sense. You consume what you must, you take what you like, you gain wings and you take to the skies!”

His words echoed through the rooms, leaving silence in their wake.

“Then,” George continued after a moment, “Then you lose who you once were.” He looked back up at Smaug. “My name – Your name – was once Aegnor. I was raised in Rivendell, ages before this. Back before Sauron rose to power, before there ever was such a being as him. The name I was given as a family name was the name of the one I loved. His family’s name was Arrowroot. His name was Delling.”

“Your story is amusing,” Smaug huffed out a plume of smoke. “But you are only distracting me. I remember none of this.”

“No,” George smiled sadly. “You would not.”

Smaug snarled at him, pushing himself off the ground and flapping his wings so that he ascended into the open are near the ceiling. “I think I will go punish your precious little Dale for your lies,” he hissed the words out, moving around the pillars and towards the main entrance. “I will be certain to mention you!”

And with that, Smaug was gone.

George watched him go, then turned on his heel and moved quickly back towards where he had left Will. The other man was still behind the pillar, clutching at the strap of the bag. “You…” his voice was soft, uneven from the uncertainty that came from a missing hearing aid. “George?”

“Yes?”

“I…” Will’s eyes were wide still, searching George’s. “I remember that name.”

 

XxXxX

 

George, Will noticed, was suddenly a couple shades paler than normal.

He had just shocked him, he supposed. His partner was allowed to be shocked and probably a little freaked out.

Will sighed, drawing George in close to him. “The name you said was yours, the one you said was your lover’s…I remember them both.” He looked up at him. “I think…I think I may have been Delling.” He ran a hand through his hair. “I wonder if the Valar had this planned. I remember being Delling, of a life before being Bard.”

“Oh,” George’s hands were warm on his hips. “Oh, my lovely one,” he put a hand on Will’s cheek. “Shining One.”

“Fell fire,” Will pressed their foreheads together. “That was what your name meant.”

Someone cleared their throat and both of them turned to look. Bilbo stood there, hands on his hips, and a somewhat stern but also shell-shocked look on his face. “Could either one of you, perhaps, explain? It is only that I do not like being left unaware, you see. A good story must be shared,” he looked between them. “And this seems like it may very well be a good story.”

“Some time ago, we found ourselves suddenly in the Shire,” Will began slowly. His heart was pounding a little quickly in his chest. “In a way, we were cursed to share in this adventure. The Arkenstone, the very thing that you have been sent to search for…Well, I suppose we should start at the very beginning, shouldn’t we?”

“We do have something we must do in here,” George brushed Will’s hair back from his face. “We should tell the story as we do that.”

“Yeah,” Will nodded. “Come on, Bilbo. We will tell you as we go.”

The three of them moved towards the deeper caverns. George held Will’s hand the entire time. “We aren’t from this point in time,” Will began. “We come from a future that is yet to happen. A very distant one. We had a run-in with the creature you got your ring from.”

“He lives that long?”

“Unfortunately,” George’s upper lip pulled back a little. “He made a nest, terrorized us and our friends. We got rid of him and then went to check his nest to make sure there was nothing in it that would hurt anyone should they find it. We went, checked it, and found the Arkenstone. The one from our point in time.”

“The thing about the Arkenstone is in the name of it,” Will continued when George looked at him. “The Heart of the Mountain. It belongs here. It wants to be in the mountain it came from. When we found it, one of us picked it up and it brought us back in time to here and now. We found ourselves in the Shire, where Gandalf found us as he walked away from your door that day. The day he put a mark on the newly painted green, the day you met a dwarven king.”

“Gandalf helped assure the king that we were needed so that we could get our version of the Arkenstone back to its home. Our version of the creature survived to our time because of the ring. It is dangerous, please remember that.” George looked down at Bilbo, one eyebrow raised. Will wanted to roll his eyes for a moment. “It did not die the death it was supposed to have because of the longevity provided by the ring. Gave it enough time to get to safety after falling into the molten mountain the ring came from.”

Will laughed. “So, we came on the adventure with you. The version of the Arkenstone from our time has been in a bag we have carried from the Shire to here. We are hoping to put it back in its home and then return to ours.”

“Will it allow that?” Bilbo’s eyes were wide still as he looked up at them.

“I suppose there is only one way to find out,” George grabbed a pickaxe as they passed it, hefting it over one shoulder. “We are going to rebury it.”

“Ah,” Bilbo looked back over his shoulder. “I suppose I should return to the others. They asked for me to get back to them with news.” He looked up at George and Will smiled. “What should I tell them, if this works?”

“Tell them you chased off a dragon,” George laughed a little. “Tell them to add it to your list of titles. If you must, tell them we followed after you and were snatched up by the jaws of the terrible beast. Luck-wearer and barrel-rider and all sorts of names you’ve earned. Call yourself Dragon-sender, call yourself storyteller.”

He looked at Will. “Tell them we fell. Tell them we ran. Tell them what you must, but do not tell them all what truly happened. They, and you, will know with time.”

“Are we friends, then,” Bilbo met Will’s eyes. “In this future of yours?”

“Yes,” Will nodded. “You’re the one who helped gather everyone together. Sort of in the middle of everything, of keeping everyone together. You do it very well.”

“My own future is not going to be filled entirely with cheer, is it. There will be sadness,” Bilbo sighed. “I should have expected that. You have not said, but I can tell, somehow. I suppose it is better than no future at all, isn’t it?”

“If things were always good,” George started saying it and Will recognized the words as something their version of Bilbo said sometimes. “We would never quite appreciate anything.”

He stopped, looking over the edge of the pit into the darkness at the heart of the mountain. “And it may very well be time for you to go, Bilbo Baggins. Return to your party, tell them your stories, whichever ones you choose to tell. We have one last order of business here before we are gone.”

Bilbo nodded and scurried off into the hallway they had come from, his footsteps fading into silence.

“We,” George gestured Will closer and pulled the Arkenstone from the bag on his hip. “Have held up our end of this twisted bargain. We have returned you to your home, we have traveled far. We have gone through dangers and nearly lost our lives for the sake of you. We have brought you _home._ ”

He set it at the edge of the pit, the one dug far deeper into the earth than the dwarves had been meant to go.

“Will,” he raised a hand and Will nodded, stepping back.

George met his eyes, smiling at him. “We brought you home,” he looked down at the Arkenstone. “You awful thing. You nearly got us killed, you nearly destroyed our sanities, you tried to revert me to the monster I used to be. You tried to kill Wilhelm, my dear, my heart, my treasure,” he stepped back a little and raised the pickaxe. “But now you are home. You need to hold up your end of the bargain. Return us to when and where you found us. If you do not, I will find some way to claw through time and find you again, take my revenge out on the somewhat fragile shape of you.”

He swung the pickaxe down, fracturing the edge of the pit and sending hundreds of pounds of dirt plus the Arkenstone into the darkness waiting below.

Will closed his eyes as the entire mountain shuddered.

The mountain kept rumbling, the earth shaking beneath him, as he felt George’s arms wrap around him. “Keep your eyes closed,” George muttered into his ear, pressing their faces closer together. “Pull your shirt up and breathe through the fabric.”

The darkness spread around them and Will did so, shoving his face against George’s shoulder.

Whatever happened, at least they were together.

 

XxXxX

 

George wrapped his entire body around Will, determined to shield him from whatever was falling from the ceiling above them.

The rumbling faded to mere tremors after several minutes and when it finally stopped, George looked up. The darkness confused him for a moment until he saw the stars above them, glinting in the night sky. “Will,” he pulled back from his partner, shaking his shoulder. “Will, look up.”

Will looked at him, somewhat groggy and confused, and George grinned. “We made it.”

“We’re home?” Will’s voice was still oddly pitched; he was still missing one of his hearing aids. His face and hands bore the scratches he had gained on the journey, but he seemed to already be in much better health than he had been. “We’ve made it back!” he laughed, lunging towards George and holding him tightly again. “We are home.”

“We are,” George stood up slowly, helping him to his feet. “Are you feeling alright?”

“A little dizzy,” Will shrugged, wincing and going still. “My shoulder still hurts a little, the entirety of me is sore. I-” he cut himself off, looking extremely startled. It made a flare of fear rise in George and he reached out to steady him.

“What?” George looked him over, still holding his shoulders. “What hurts? What is wrong?”

“Nothing, just,” Will reached down and pulled a sword from a sheath George hadn’t noticed hanging from his hip. “I still have my weapon. And your clothes have gone…Strange.”

George looked down at himself.

Will was right; his clothing was very strange. Instead of the relatively simple outfit of a button-down shirt, slacks, and shoes that he had started the adventure in, there were marks of the journey they had gone on. The tunic he had been wearing was tucked under his button-down, the thick leggings under his slacks. The boots he had been wearing were next to him on the ground, as if he had just stepped out of them.

On the ground, next to them, was a small satchel.

He recognized the satchel immediately; they had, after all, just spent nearly a year carrying it around. It had carried the Arkenstone inside it. “Here,” George felt for a sword at his hip and was not disappointed. It was still there, hanging from a belt, and he arrange it so that he could bend down and pick the satchel up.

It was inordinately heavy, feeling more like a small cannonball than a bad.

George handed it to Will and picked up his boots, standing back up. “Should we open it?” he asked quietly, staring at the bag. “Or should we leave it here?”

“…Open it,” Will gave the bag a suspicious look. “If we leave it, who knows what may happen? It is connected to the journey we went on and I do not want to leave anything of that out in the open for anyone to find.”

Reaching out with a somewhat trembling hand, afraid of what he might find, George pulled back the flap of the bag. Looking inside, both of his eyebrows shot up and his mouth dropped open. “…We are going to have to find a business that buys ancient gold coins,” he told Will. “The entire bag seems to be full of them. I believe I see some jewels, as well.”

Will blinked a couple of times, tried to speak and failed, then tried again. “Did the Arkenstone just pay us for taking it home?”

“I believe it did.”

“Now I feel like we went on a year-long trip just to be known as ancient artifact taxi drivers.” Will made a face. “We should go home now.”

“Yes,” George nodded, flipping the bag shut and slinging it onto Will’s shoulder. He took his hand and started to lead the way out of the creature’s old nest. “We should.”

They left as quickly as possible, heading home in the most direct way they could.

Somehow, the stars above them looked amused, as if the near-forgotten Valar were watching and somewhat laughing. When George looked up, they twinkled merrily at him and he sighed. “If you are to have us do things like this often,” he told the stars. “Could we perhaps have an advanced warning? It is quite frightening to suddenly be whisked off like that.”

The wind chose that moment to pick up, playing with their hair.

“I will take that as a ‘perhaps’,” Will looked at George, smiling. He squeezed his hand and smiled. “I do want to talk about some things when we get home.”

 _Ah_ , George thought.

The realization that Smaug and Bard had not been the first time they had met. The memories of being someone before even that, before the others had even come in as new souls.

The love story that had been started centuries before they had even realized it.

His Wilhelm, his Bard, his Delling.

The greatest treasure he had ever come to know.

George squeezed back, feeling Will’s fingers curl around his. “We will talk about it,” he promised. “And I will tell you every memory I know of.”

Will’s smile was the most beautiful thing he had ever seen. “Good,” he murmured.

They had come out of it alive.

He knew _exactly_ how lucky he was to be in there, in that moment with Will.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Hey guys, guess what!
> 
> We're nearly done with this section! 
> 
> I am...Actually considering ending the series with this. Four years and over 100K. It has been a trip and I have loved it, but I just...I don't know. I still feel like there is story to tell but I also feel like I should ask you guys. Would you continue to read about these guys? 
> 
> Is anyone even still reading this right now? 
> 
> https://goo.gl/zRFoKm
> 
> That link right there is a link to a poll about this story. Just to figure out where it stands in the attentions of the fans. If you have a minute, go answer it really quick. One question, hit a button, done.


	10. The World Turned Over

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> For the first time ever: A sex scene in one of my stories. What lays ahead is NSFW.

“So,” George began, awkwardly, as Will let them into the house.

Their bodies ached and their clothes were out of place in their own time, now. George felt as if he had been through several wars before being unceremoniously returned home. The gold in the bag on his hip weighed him down a bit, but it jingled in a pleasant way.

It was nowhere near as satisfying to hear as Will’s laughter, he thought.

“Delling Arrowroot,” Will turned to him. He looked exhausted, but his eyes were bright with an awareness that had somehow been missing. “Aegnor. Me and you.” He took a deep breath. “Want to explain where that knowledge came from?”

“It was just in my head,” George winced at the words coming from his own mouth and wanted to shove his face into his hands. There was something too simple about them. “I was born and raised in Rivendell, the son of a noble elven woman. Other than that, I do not remember. You-”

He paused.

His eyes slipped closed and George let out a small whimper of breath. “Of _course_ ,” he hissed the words out.

Delling Arrowroot had died.

It was to be expected, of course. A mortal man was going to die a mortal death. Delling Arrowroot had been no less courageous and kind than Bard, than Wilhelm Espenson. Some other faction of man had needed help – an attack on their city, perhaps from others of their kind?

The details were hazy, but George remembered that Delling had gone off to help.

“And you went insane when news of my death came to you,” Will filled in. Apparently, he had been speaking out loud. “I think I can guess, pretty easily, what happened after that. You turned to gold and to treasure, seeking to find something you could hold that would never leave you.”

“It was your eyes,” George muttered, looking at the ground. “Your eyes, my love, always shone an amber-toned gold. It was the one thing I could find to keep the memories of you alive. As long as there was gold, I would be able to remember what you looked like, even as the centuries of my unbearably long life bore down on me.”

His hands felt empty.

Will seemed to realize and stepped forward, lacing their fingers together. “We have found each other again,” he whispered. “And again. I suspect that we will never stop finding each other.”

“I,” George sniffed and looked up to meet Will’s eyes, his own gaze filled with tears. “I never want to be parted from you.” He nodded when Will tugged him in closer and wrapped his arms around the slighter man, burying fingers in his hair. They both needed a shower and to shave off the facial hair they had grown over the course of the journey they had been on.

“If I have my way,” Will muttered, pressing George against a wall and plastering himself to the ex-dragon’s front. “You never will be. Not again.”

They stood there for some time.

 

When they managed to detangle themselves enough to get up to the bathroom, George stripped them both down to nothing in front of the door and shooed Will inside. His lover hummed quietly, somewhat off-key, as George collected clean clothing and their slippers.

He doubled back from the door to grab Will’s extra hearing aids.

After an incident where one had been knocked out, they had started keeping a few backup sets at home. Fiddling with the box that held them, George kicked aside the dirty clothes and slipped into the bathroom.

Will was standing in front of the mirror, examining the thick growth of beard over his chin.

With a deep breath, George set the clothes and the hearing aids on the shelf near the shower, then pressed himself against Will’s back. Their hips aligned, almost heavy with expectation, but George didn’t push. “Gods,” he hissed out. “I could have lost you.”

“…I was worried about you,” Will admitted quietly. “That damned stone was making you so sick – I was afraid I was going to lose you to it.” His thin fingers tightened on the countertop and George turned him around so that they were truly aligned, hip-to-hip. “You scared me so much,” Will whispered, pressing their foreheads together.

“I am sorry,” George whispered back.

Will canted his hips up, just enough to brush them together. “Take care of me,” his eyes were wide and almost pleading as he gestured towards the shower. “I need…”

His words trailed off, but George knew exactly what he meant.

“I will,” George nodded, taking his hands and leading him. “I know what you need,” he brushed their noses together, kissed gently at the corners of Will’s mouth. Reaching behind him, he turned on the water and held a hand under the spray until it felt warm enough.

He nudged Will under the spray and against the tile wall, following immediately after and pressing their bodies together again.

The hard length of his lover was pressed against his hip, a warm weight that felt almost like a blessing. They were still alive – George was still able to do this with him. With barely a glance to make sure he got the right bottle, George grabbed for the lube they kept in the shower and clicked open the cap. He poured a measure of it into his palm and took Will in his hand, enjoying the slide of flesh under his fingers.

Before a sound could escape, George kissed him and swallowed his noises, wrapping his hand around the both of them and sliding them together.

“I love you,” Will panted out when he pulled back to let them both breathe.

George met his eyes, looked over him and rubbed the thumb of the hand not working them together over Will’s cheek. “I love you, too,” he said, softer than he had ever been before.

 

xXx

 

His beard was going to bother him.

Will felt cleaner than he had in an age – the dirt of their journey had been washed away, down the drain. Bits of Middle Earth meeting modern day plumbing.

There was something pleasing about that.

Looking into the mirror, however, was not pleasing. Will had never really seen himself as a beard sort of person. They looked good on others, were often a nice texture, but on himself, it was not a desired thing. If he were going to have facial hair, it would be a well-trimmed thing that just covered the front of his face, not the whole jaw.

George stood next to him, seemingly pondering the same thing.

“At least yours actually looks good on you,” Will grinned when his partner’s eyes darted towards him, settling into a half-glare. “Like an old growth forest or something.”

“Well,” George frowned at his reflection and Will leaned in to kiss his cheek. “It may look good but there is the part where, if we run into someone from our daily lives, we have to somehow explain how we managed to grow them in less than a week.”

“Or a day,” Will laughed and nodded. He felt much more at home now, though the faint traces of the journey stayed with him. He felt older than he had been when they had set off, in a way that was hard to explain. It was as if several years had passed between them stepping into Gollum’s nest for the first time and now. “Shave it off now and regrow it later?”

“Perhaps,” George nodded, ducking under the counter-edge and rummaging under the sink. When he re-emerged, it was with an electronic shaver and the clippers that they kept there. “For now, though, it definitely needs to be shorn off.” He untangled the cord of the clippers and plugged it in. He hesitated, however, before turning them on. With a nod, he set them on the counter and fluffed at his beard, then pulled gently at his hair.

The dark curls, usually tamed into a short cut that framed his face, had grown almost to his shoulders in the time they had been gone. It made George look like some wild Fae creature, with his golden eyes and his usually pale skin having turned a golden shade with the sunlight they had gotten on the journey. “Do you suppose I can pretend to have gotten extensions?” he asked, glancing at Will.

“I would be in favor of pretending,” Will leaned against the wall and smiled. “You look good with long hair.”

George’s cheeks flushed.

It was unfairly beautiful, Will thought as he studied him. The man he loved, the one who had been at his side through a great many trials and troubles, was almost unfairly gorgeous. His long lashes that framed yellow-gold eyes, black curls that framed a face with cheekbones that could cut glass. The flush of pink on his cheeks only served to make him even more appealing in Will’s opinion.

“Here,” Will picked up the clippers. “Do you want me to do this?”

George nodded mutely, letting Will nudge him down onto the toilet seat and didn’t even spare a glance for the harsh buzzing noise the clippers made when turned on. Will was careful, first trimming off the long hair to a point where the electric razor could be used.

Through it all, George sat with his hands in his lap, covering up his crotch in an effort to prevent sharp hairs from sticking in uncomfortable places. He seemed entirely at ease.

It was, Will thought almost wildly, a sense of safety gained from more than one lifetime spent together.

He had been Delling.

It made sense, in an odd way. He and George had always fit together so well. Even before, when all they had known was being Smaug and Bard, murderous dragon and justice-seeking killer, they had still been drawn together.

The pull of souls, Will supposed.

Whatever it was, he was glad for it. George and he belonged together. Would always belong together. He finished with the electric razor and ran his hands over George’s face. “You probably still need to actually shave,” he informed him. “But you’re able to do that now.”

George nodded and leaned forward, wrapping his arms around Will’s waist. “I could have lost you,” he whispered. “So many times.”

Two lifetimes of trauma and worry had been built up, Will realized. His own hands found George’s hair and swept through it in calming strokes, making the once-upon-a-time-dragon practically purr. It was only after a few minutes, hesitantly and unhappily, that Will pulled away and took the clippers and razor to his own face.

With that done, he turned back to George and took his hands, mimicking how he had been led into the shower. “Let me take care of you, now.”

George nodded again, his chest heaving a little.

Will brought him to their bed, pushing him down into the center of it and crawling after him. He kneeled between George’s legs, bringing them up to rest around his hips as he leaned to reach into a bedside table and find another bottle of lube. After one-too-many times where they had started something and needed to stop to go retrieve it, they had just taken to stashing it in various places in the house.

“Breathe for me,” Will whispered, kissing along George’s jaw and he popped open the cap and poured some out.

He circled George’s hole slowly, pressing just the tip of his finger carefully in. It had been so long since they had been able to do this. On the journey, there had never been a time or place, never a moment alone where they could even bring each other off.

Still, George took a single finger beautifully and easily, as if the time had not passed at all. When Will crooked his finger and brushed his prostate, George jumped out of his skin a little and dropped back onto the bed, clutching at the sheets. His hair, long and curled and just as amazing as the rest of him, splayed out across the pillows. Will sat there for a moment, appreciating the view.

Two fingers followed not long after that and Will watched George starting to come undone.

When he was up to three fingers, George started acting impatient, whining and bucking. Will leaned down and nipped gently at his hipbone, nuzzling along his stomach. “Not just yet, my love,” he whispered, adding more lube and another finger.

Four fingers had George arching off the bed, his cock practically drooling and his face and chest a bright red that looked almost painful.

When Will removed his fingers, George let out a whine and tried to follow them, only to be held in place by a gentle hand on his stomach. “Shh,” Will murmured, slicking himself up and arranging those long legs around his hips. “George?”

“Hm?” George managed to focus enough to look at him, meet his eyes.

“I love you,” Will leaned down over him, arms blocking in around his head. “So much.” He leaned down as George leaned up, a hard kiss that was enough of a distraction that George did not feel whatever minor pain might come from Will sliding inside of him.

God, he had forgotten how tight George felt. It had been far too long, too many dangers and near-death experiences in between the last time they had done this and now.

He thrust shallowly, almost in time with George’s panting, picking up speed so that every other breath was punched out of his body by Will sliding further into him. One of George’s hands tangled in Will’s hair, pulling a fraction too tight but it felt good. Will slid a hand under his hips and tilted him, slamming into him now in a brutal pace that had both of them groaning in pleasure.

George’s nails, almost claws, scraped down his back in a way that was sure to leave deep scratches.

There was a time for tender and soft and neither of them needed that right now.

Will leaned down enough to clamp his teeth into George’s shoulder, holding there as he fucked into his lover and held his hips with both hands, angling him just right. There was nothing beyond them, right then. No world outside, no memories of pain and loss and death, no threats to their lives, no school or work or people who would never understand the strangeness they had gone through.

More than a year of their lives had been collapsed into an hour.

The only one who could understand was the other that had gone through it.

Will let go of a hip and grabbed some more lube, using it to slick his hand and allow George to fuck his fist as he continued to pound into the man beneath him. This was an exertion they both needed, they had realized.

George snarled and wrapped his legs tighter around Will, pulling him closer and deeper. It didn’t seem to be enough for him, however, as he managed to flip them over in bed and brought himself down on Will’s cock, setting an even more brutal pace than before. “I almost lost you,” he hissed, dragging Will to sit up and biting at his bottom lip.

Will followed, content to be moved around as George needed him to be. “We are both still here,” he whispered back, slamming his hips up just as George came down. The result felt amazing and bone-shaking, so he did it again. George, for his part in things, looked blissed out and hazy-eyed. “We made it out alive.”

He clamped his teeth back into the mark on George’s shoulder and wrapped his fist around the man’s dick again, continuing to roll up into every downward thrust.

He felt a pain in his shoulder that washed away in the endorphins that followed, George’s own, much sharper, teeth latching into a mark the mirrored the one Will had given him. “I would have torn the fabric of reality apart to find you again if we had not.” The words seemed less like a strange threat and more like a violent promise.

Will had no doubt that George would have found a way to follow through with it.

With just a few more thrusts, George came, splattering between the two of them. Will followed not too long after.

He dragged George against his chest, rolled onto his side, and the both of them fell asleep with Will still inside of George.

 

xXx

 

Their friends, their _family_ , knew immediately that something had happened.

George almost wanted to laugh at the concern Bilbo showed them, fussing over them like the mother-hen that he was. Of course their memories had finally been unlocked for them, complete and in full. The part of time that had been in-flux had finally settled.

Still, he allowed Bilbo to push him into a chair next to Will.

Dori sat down next to them, sipping at his own tea and looking them over in his own way. “They both made it through alive,” he glanced at the once-hobbit. “A little worse for the wear, but alive.”

“That does not mean I am going to stop worrying about them,” Bilbo put his hands on his hips. “They are _family._ You never quite find a way to stop worrying over family. Besides,” he leaned into Thorin when the man tugged him closer to keep his worried hands from fluttering to check on Will and George again. “They had a long exposure to the Arkenstone again.”

“That dreadful stone is what caused reincarnation in the first place,” Thorin nodded, seeing the wisdom in Bilbo’s words before it had to be pointed out. “Who knows what it has done to them?”

“Precisely,” Bilbo turned and nudged his nose against Thorin’s chin.

George laughed. Between the worry shown by their adoptive family and what he and Will had spent several hours doing once they had gotten back home, he felt alive in his skin again. Like whatever had been stirred up by spending over a year away from home had been shoved back into the darker corners of his mind, albeit dusted off and clear of cobwebs. “I would say we are alright,” he added in at last. “Though I am concerned as to what some archaeologist may someday find.”

“What do you mean?” Thorin raised an eyebrow and poured some coffee for himself.

“I lost one of my hearing aids on the journey,” Will added in, grinning. “In the underground of the Goblin city.”

Bilbo chuckled, then moved on to full-blown laughter. “Of all the things!” he muttered, shaking his head. His shoulders trembled with his amusement and George felt as if he were finally home again. “Well,” Bilbo nodded, glancing at the clock. “I suspect that Gandalf and Radaghast will need to speak with you, after all of this. Frodo gets out of school in a little less than an hour, and then we can call the wizards in.” he glanced at Will, then met George’s eyes. “If you two are feeling up to speaking with them today.”

“We may have to commandeer your study,” George shrugged one shoulder, leaning into Will’s side. “But that sounds good to me.”

“And to me,” Will raised his chin, turning and dropping it to the top of George’s head.

George nodded slowly, careful not to dislodge Will. “Just as long as we are not separated,” he added quietly. “I do not believe that either of us could handle that.”

“No,” Dori shook his head. “I cannot imagine that either of you could, right now.”

 

xXx

 

Will felt normal again.

In the light of day, with family all around and good food on the table in front of them, he felt normal. Almost like nothing had happened, except that would never be true.

Things had happened. Memories had been uncovered.

Maybe it would be better to say that it was like things were finally put right with the uncovering and the happenings. The bond between him and George had only grown stronger, strengthened by a tether neither of them had remembered until George had gone toe-to-toe with a different version of himself. With the strength of that humming through them, Will felt like they could conquer anything.

There was a lunch date with George’s mother in a few days, and he knew they could get through it like nothing had happened.

Their big adventure was a part of them, now. In a way that it had always been a part of the rest of the company. They had just needed to take a detour to get to where the others were.

How angry, he thought as he reached under the table and curled his fingers together with George’s, would Thorin of the past have been to realize that someone who had been born and raised an elf once-upon-a-time had traveled with him?

Radaghast made some joke that Will did not catch but he laughed anyway, genuine and happy. The room was warm and full of good humor and family.

They were safe here.

Will thought of the secret he had in his sock drawer, back at their own house. The journey had only cemented the thoughts he’d had about it, vague as they had been. Concrete enough to go through with buying the necessary things, but he had still been a little unsure, before.

He was not any longer.

George leaned in and pressed a quick kiss to his cheek, much to the embarrassment of Frodo. The boy stuck his tongue out at George and laughed when the ex-dragon did the same. It devolved, eventually, into George asking about school and homework.

Will chuckled again and nodded.

Even if George were unsure, Will was entirely certain.

The engagement ring in his drawer was attached to a question and as soon as possible, Will wanted to ask that question.

They had been through a hell of sorts, together, and had come out the other side even stronger. George had weathered the storm of his own mind, Will had been guided back home by the attentive care of his lover.

They were safe and sound and warm.

And home would always be with George.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Holy shit. 
> 
> I hope you guys enjoyed my first sex scene. I'm a little surprised it happened at all, but it felt like a good way of having these guys work stuff out together. George needed reassurance that he wasn't insane and alone, Will needed softness and being held. I'm still sort of staring at my screen in shock of the fact that _I wrote this._
> 
> Sex scenes are not common in my writing. Hope y'all enjoyed.
> 
> (I wouldn't exactly call it porn? Porn, to me, is something written for the sake of getting the reader off. This is more just...Emotional sex that we're an audience to. Does that make any sense?)

**Author's Note:**

> I'm back and I bring more Hobbit fic with me.
> 
> I hope you all enjoy this, and I really hope you stuck with me this long.


End file.
